Facade
by lucyzigg
Summary: Updated 8-31! On camera, Stephanie McMahon is the image of strength. Off camera, she desperately fights her fears alone... but for how long? Officially a Smoochie fic :)
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer:  I do not own the characters of Stephanie McMahon and Dawn Marie.  They are the property of the actresses and the WWE.  I am but your humble servant Vince, don't send the dogs after me.

Facade

CHAPTER ONE

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, gearing myself up for another show.  Fierce blue eyes stared back at me, my upper lip twisted into a snarl, a look that my ex-husband lovingly referred to as my "game face".   

* I am Stephanie McMahon.  I am the general manager of SmackDown! and a valuable asset to my father's company, even if he fails to realize that fact.  My show will eclipse Bischoff's in the ratings and I will remain the dominant female in the WWE.* my familiar mantra filled my head as I built up my confidence. 

My left arm throbbed painfully, breaking my thoughts.  Reaching up with my right hand, I gently rolled down the damp pressure cuff, whimpering as the blood rushed through the unused limb.  Since I had the lymph nodes removed in my left armpit, I was forced to wear that bloody cuff every time I boarded an airplane.  I used to wish for a job with less commuting; now I just wished for a healthier body.  

Thinking about that last surgery, my eyes wandered to my left breast.  Automatically, I went to trace the scar above my nipple, just visible above the white hotel towel I am wearing.  *I am in remission.  The cancer is gone. * I reminded myself as old fears, memories of the day I found the lump flooded my brain.  I shivered, and then pushed the weakness away.  There was a time and a place for self pity, and now was not that time.

Dropping my towel, I went about dressing for the show, pulling out clothes that I like to call "sexy-professional hybrid."  Even with my full coverage bra, I struggled to fasten the middle buttons on my blue dress shirt, my breasts causing the fabric to strain.  With a sigh, I pulled up my gray miniskirt, slipped into my heels and stood in front of the mirror again to apply some makeup.  

Satisfied, I step back from the mirror, running a hand through my hair.  I notice that the messy strands are nearly chin length, and I wonder how much longer it will be until it is fully grown in.  Pinning what little hair I had back, I reach for the wig on the vanity and tape it into place.  Numerous scuffles with Sable over the past few weeks made me truly appreciate wig tape; it held even when I was dragged by the hair during our matches.  

A knock on the door startled me.  Rushing to the door, I peered through the peep-hole and see my only friend on the other side.  Breathing a sigh of relief, I opened the door quickly.  "You scared me half to death!  All my stuff is still out!"  I gesture to my wig stand and tape, clearly visible on the vanity.  

Walking in, Dawn Marie gave me a quick hug, then went to sit on the bed.  "Sorry Steph, I came to tell you that our limo is here to take us to the show."  

Worriedly, I turned back to the mirror.  "Do I look alright?  Can you see anything?"  

A line creased her brow as she stood back up and moved before me.  Her deep brown eyes examined my hairline, and a hand crept up to smooth a few stray bangs back into place.  I watched her face intently, looking for any signs of disapproval.  She was the only Diva I trusted, the only person in the WWE that knew about the cancer and the only one that I could ever stand before, completely vulnerable.  Her brow smoothed out and a grin pulled at her lips.  "You look perfect as always.  All I can see is Stephanie McMahon, GM and all around badass."

I laughed at her remarks, feeling my confidence rise again.  "Why thank you, Ms. Wilson."  Her nose wrinkled at the name, and I couldn't help but laugh some more.  "Come on, we better get going.  I have a ton of paperwork to do before I announce tonight's matches."

"Yes, Ms. McMahon," she grumbled good naturedly, walking towards the door.  Checking the mirror one more time, I found myself to look perfect, just like she said.  *It is a necessary evil,* I think to myself as I followed Dawn out of my hotel room and down the hall, *the implants, the wigs, they maintain my image of power.*   

Little did anyone know that the image was the only thing keeping me from crumbling inside.  

END CHAPTER ONE 


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer:  I do not own the characters of Stephanie McMahon, Dawn Marie, or Shane McMahon.  They are the property of the actresses, actor, and the WWE.  Again, Vince, I am your humble servant, suing me would be a bigger disaster than the XFL.  I do, however, own the character of Dr. Louise McKeon, who can be borrowed with my explicit permission.  

Façade

CHAPTER TWO

My palms were sweating horribly.  The room was suddenly ten times warmer than I initially thought.  I fidgeted in my chair, touching my bangs nervously, wishing that I'd hadn't flow back to Connecticut specifically for this Friday meeting.  

A hand gently clasped my elbow, startling me.  "It's your turn, Stephanie," the resident therapist, Louise McKeon, said.  "Are you prepared to speak tonight?"  

*NO!!!* I thought frantically, yet my mouth went dry and I dumbly nodded yes.  Watching the doctor return to her seat across the circle, I willed myself to pull it together, just in case anyone would recognize me as THE Stephanie McMahon this time.  Plastering on my famous smirk, I stood up and crossed my arms defiantly.  However, as the other women turned to look at me, their eyes soft and supportive, I felt my resolve crumble.  Desperately, I screwed up what little power I felt inside, and suddenly found my voice.  "Hi… I'm Stephanie, and this is my fifth time here."

Louise nodded from across the room.  "Welcome back Stephanie.  We realize that with your busy schedule it is difficult for you to come to every support group meeting.  We are glad you are here to speak to us tonight."  A few of the women surrounding her smiled in affirmation, yet I found no comfort in their grins.  

Uncrossing my arms, I looked down at my hands and wondered where I should begin.  My nerves spiked, and I forced myself to speak.  "Well, um…. I'm here because I was diagnosed with infiltrating lobular carcinoma about a year ago, in April.  To date, though, the doctors have found no remaining traces of cancer."  The group broke out into applause, startling me.  I knew this was a common procedure from the few times I have attended before; however it almost felt belittling to have them applaud the worst experience of my life.  

Having lost my train of thought, I caught Louise's eyes and sent her a desperate glance.  She nodded slowly, and then spoke:  "For those of you who are unsure, infiltrating lobular carcinoma first appears in the lobules of the breast, where breast milk is produced.  The cancer then spreads to the surrounding tissue and lymph nodes.  Is that correct, Stephanie?"

I shivered at her words, flooded with memories of the oncologist, the scientific terms that I couldn't understand beyond the fact that they could form a death sentence.  My knees grew weaker, and I felt tears forming behind my eyes.  "Yes," I squeaked out, avoiding the concerned look on Louise's face and deciding instead to play with the lapel of my jacket, just above the actual scar.  "I found the lump here… it was only about an inch long.  My doctor called it Stage IIA breast cancer, since by the time we found it, it had spread to my… my…." my voice cracked. Tears were now pouring down my face unabatedly, the echo of my oncologist's words ringing in my ears.  "My…" I tried again, gesturing to my left underarm, and felt the last of my resolve slip away.  Falling back into my chair, I covered my hands with my face and let the sobs take over, flashing back to last April.

_Waking up from the anesthetic, I was greeting with a dull headache.  I could feel tubes and bandages everywhere, pulling at already sore skin.   A nurse, checking my vitals across the bed, asked me if I wanted anything.  She knew that I had no family or friends waiting outside; she was the same nurse at the surgery check-in.  I shake my head slowly, then ask to be alone.  She offers a sympathetic look; I scowl at her and demand that she leaves, watching her hasty departure through blurry eyes._

Arms were wrapped around me, and another set of hands ran through my hair.  I sobbed my apologies over and over again, and a chorus of soothing words shushed me.  Eventually, the pain began to subside and I regained my composure.  Lifting my head slowly, I removed my hands and sniffled back the last of my sobs, offering a small smile of thanks.  It was then I realized that I had no idea who these women were, besides breast cancer survivors.  I never bothered to learn their names, I avoided their monthly support meetings as much as possible, and was even irritated by the support they offered earlier.  Incredible guilt passed through me, and I trained my eyes on my shoes, wondering if these women secretly hated me.

"Stephanie," Louise's voice caught my attention.  I refused to look at her, choosing instead to glance at the clock mounted on the wall behind her.  "I am proud of you for trying."  Her words startled me, and I met her soft green eyes with surprise.  "You can try again as soon as you want, whenever you feel ready."

The shame of my previous breakdown subsided.  "Thank you," I mumbled to the group, who offered me their same encouraging smiles.  As the woman sitting beside me, Sharon, stood up to tell her tale, I vowed to myself to come to more meetings, and to learn the names of these people who were so willing to lend me their strength despite my adamancy to battle my fears internally.

As usual, as soon as the meeting was over I bolted out of the room.  Walking out of the small office building, I had to admit that I felt better.  I had never put much stock into these support meetings before, but to be able to somewhat talk about the cancer with people who had gone through with it was rather refreshing.  Happily I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell phone, turning it back on while I fished for my keys.  My phone beeped almost immediately, indicating a voice message.

"Stephanie!" A woman's voice called out behind me.  Whirling around, I saw Louise running after me, waving a sheet of paper.  Slightly irritated, I stopped and plastered on a grin for the therapist, shoving my phone in my pocket.  Stopping just a foot away from me, she took a few shallow breaths and handed me the paper.  "Here's the calendar for the next few month's meetings; I hope you can at least make it to a few," the woman gasped out.

I frowned, my eyes running over the paper.  The meetings were generally held on Friday nights, which left me little downtime between running Smackdown! and flying back to Greenwich.  "I don't know my schedule off-hand, Dr. McKeon, but I'll do my best to come."  

A business card was then thrust on top of the calendar.  "I was thinking… in case you would like to talk outside of the group, we could make an appointment."  Her green eyes bored into mine with veiled worry.  "I can be flexible for you."

My irritation grew.  *How DARE she suggest that I need private counseling!  I have dealt with this by myself since the beginning; I certainly don't need her help now.* Tapping down my anger, I placed the card in my purse politely.  "Thank you Dr. McKeon, I will remember that," I answered smoothly.  "Now if you'll excuse me…" Turning, I walked over to my car, fuming over the audacity of that therapist.

As I opened the door to my Lincoln, I heard her call out a goodbye.  Offering a wave in her general direction, I entered my car and let out a sigh of relief.  My cell phone beeped again within the confines of my pocket, reminding me of my messages.  Dialing up the voicemail, I turned on my car and deftly maneuvered my car onto the darkened road.

"Message 1," the automatic voice stated.  "Hey Steph, its Dawn, call me when you get out of your meeting, my date with John should be over by then.  Love ya!"  Dawn Marie's cheerful yet nasal message brought a genuine smile to my face.  Pushing a button to delete the message, I wondered who John was and why their date would be over before midnight.  Dawn Marie could run a successful bed-and-breakfast from her own apartment.

"Message 2," the automatic voice stated.  "Little sis, it's Shane.  I have big news, I need your help, call me as soon as you get this."  I nearly dropped the phone at the sound of my brother's voice; I hadn't spoken to him cordially in months, outside of conversations about Mom.  

Listening to his message again, I noticed something I hadn't heard in awhile:  excitement.  A familiar rush went through me, and I quickly dialed his cell phone, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel in anticipation.

"Stephanie?" Shane's voice answered after the first ring.

I had to laugh.  He probably had the phone sitting on his chest again.  "Yeah it's me.  What's going on?"  

"Sis, after RAW on Monday, Kane went berserk.  I guess he got a few shots in on Bischoff, and now good ol' Eric is hospitalized for at least a month with broken ribs…"

"WHAT!?!?" I interrupted.  "Why didn't I hear about this before?"  Even though I was the GM of Smackdown!, I still had a few informational sources on the other show.  

"Because he didn't go to the hospital until today.  Tried to tough it out.  Idiot.  But that doesn't matter.  Mom called me, and I am the new temporary GM of RAW until he gets out…"  

"WHAT!!!!"  I shouted again.  "You are the GM?  Why do you get to be the GM?  What about Stone Cold Steve Austin?  What about Daddy?"  Pausing to catch my breath, I remembered his voicemail and became suspicious.  "Wait, why do you need my help?  RAW and SmackDown! are rival shows."

It was Shane's turn to laugh.  "Stephanie, breathe."  I grunted into the phone, wanting answers, which got another laugh from Shane.  "Okay, okay.  I'm not sure why I was chosen to take over, but I wasn't about to ask Mom why.  I don't care what Dad says, I just hope he doesn't interfere with my plans.  Same goes with Stone Cold, although I'll try to placate him.  And I need you to be my consultant."

"Your consultant?" I questioned, wanting more details.  I liked the sound of this.

"You said so yourself, RAW and SmackDown! are rival shows.  We both know that Smackdown! usually outperforms RAW.  You run Smackdown!, who better to show me how to turn my show around.  And I meant to say my show, because I want this job permanently.  If I can get the ratings up, Mom'll have to fire Bischoff," Shane explained.

I nearly salivated into the phone.  *Consult on RAW?  Basically controlling both shows?  Bischoff out of power, gone forever?* Despite our joint failure with the Alliance, my brother and I worked well together.  I had to admit, this was our chance to shine, to erase the mistakes of the Alliance and show what the McMahon children were capable of.  "Alright Shaney, I'm in.  But I want a meeting so we can hammer out the details, like exactly what my consulting duties entail…"

A whoop of joy filled my ears and cut me off.  "You won't regret this, Baby Sis."  Shane affirmed.  

"I hope you're right, Shane."  *Especially after the last few months.*

END CHAPTER TWO

Author's Notes:  I appreciate the reviews so far, thank you for your support!  Oh, and to answer a question, I won't be specifically following the current storylines, but will be borrowing ideas from shows in 2001 and 2002.  Within the next few chapters I hope to have painted a clear picture of Stephanie's cancer and treatments, as well as get our leading man into the picture!  

I will now take this time to shill all stories by DCFanatic4life.  She is, by far, one of the best writers on this forum and one of the names I constantly check for updates.

Breast cancer is a serious issue; and has been an unfortunate presence in my personal life.  I am attempting to write this story with a strong factual basis, but I encourage you all to visit www.breastcancer.org for answers to your questions.  Thanks for reading and take care!


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer:  I do not own Stephanie McMahon, Dawn Marie, and various other WWE characters that appear in the subsequent story.  They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.  Vince, I know you're a heel, but I'm a poor college student!  Suing me will not get the ratings back up!

Façade

CHAPTER THREE

"Steph, why do we have to run?" Dawn Marie whined as we pushed through the crowds backstage at RAW.  

I threw her an evil look.  "RAW is starting in less than a minute, Shane is kicking off the show with the announcement, and I'm late because of YOU!"  She shrugged, and I had to laugh.  Her current flame, John Cena, was taking up the majority of her time these days, and most recently kept me waiting in the limo with Kurt for twenty minutes while they "got ready".  Finally reaching the gorilla, I heard Shane's music and bent over to catch my breath.  "Thank God, he just got out there.  We have a few minutes."

Panting, Dawn reached over to smooth a lock of hair into place.  I straightened up immediately, worried that running had dislodged my wig.  "Do I look alright?" I asked, feeling around my head carefully.  The last thing I needed was for my secret, well one of my secrets, to fall off on my first day back to RAW.

"You look fine," Dawn automatically cooed.  Grabbing my shoulders, she gave me a quick hug.  "No one is going to look at your hair when you're wearing that shirt."

Feeling my cheeks burn, I broke away with a laugh.  "Shut up Dawn, you helped me pick this out!"  Looking down, I examined the black corset-style top with a red lace inlay that made my breasts rival those of Trish Stratus.  Paired with my black leather pants, I felt more like Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley, troublemaker extraordinaire, than Stephanie McMahon, Smackdown GM and RAW consultant.  Frowning at that thought, I tugged at the strings that criss-crossed in front of my cleavage.  "Well at least it hides my potbelly," I grumbled.

Dawn rolled her eyes.  "Shut up! You SO don't have a…"

"Ms. McMahon?  I think Shane just called for his new consultant," a voice interrupted.  

"What?"  Looking at the backstage technician, I processed what he just said.  "Oh shit!  Play my music, I am going out there!"  Panicking, I ran a hand through my hair and walked up the stairs and out onto the stage.  Even with my music blaring, I could hear the mixed reaction of the crowd.  Suppressing a smile, I felt my face twist into a smirk as I paused at the top of the stage.  My nervousness about my appearance faded away as I looked out at the crowd.  I had missed the energy that came from the RAW crowd.

"Stephanie, come on down here," Shane called out over my music.  Losing my train of thought, I made my way down the ramp and climbed carefully into the ring, placing a hand over my breasts as I bent over.  Hugging my brother, I went to stand beside him, crossing my arms.  "On the behalf of everyone backstage, let me be the first to welcome you back to Monday nights."

I smiled, taking the microphone from Shane, who went to fetch another from ringside.  "Thank you Shane.  I must admit, it feels great to be back here on RAW."  The crowd cheered, which I wasn't prepared for, although it was always weird when the fans were cheering for me.  "And I'm also glad to see my brother running this show.  Shane, between the two of us, I think we can turn RAW into a bigger show than Monday Night Football.  And I know just the way to start the ball rolling."  I smirked at Shane.

Feigning surprise, Shane raised a hand up in protest.  "Whoa whoa whoa Steph, what do you have in mind?"

"I was thinking along the lines of… an inter-brand tag match.  RAW's best versus Smackdown's best.  You up for it Shane?"  

Shane grinned.  "To quote my co-general manager, Stone Cold Steve Austin, hell yeah!"  The crowd erupted at his words.

"Then bring it Shane!  We'll just see whose show will come out on top!" I shouted over the still roaring crowd.  Shane's face was pure excitement.  Sending him a pleased look, I turned and exited the ring so he could "recruit" his tag team.  Walking up the ramp, I tried to peel off the smile on my face, but couldn't.  *Shane's excitement is contagious* I thought with a laugh.  Climbing down into the gorilla, I was unexpectedly met with the technician from before.  

"I just wanted to say, it's good to have you back Ms. McMahon," the young man said nervously, fiddling with his clipboard.  

I bit surprised, I found myself without words.  *People actually missed me around here?* "Wow, um thanks," I stammered, then unable to think of anything else to say, walked around him to the backstage area to my dressing room.  Inside I chided myself for reacting the way I did to that statement.  *Well of course people missed you; look who they have had for a GM for these last few months: Bischoff* I rationalized as I turned down a hallway.  *They'll even miss you more after you turn this show around and your consulting duties will be over!*  Chuckling at that rather conceited thought, I looked up just in time to run into a bare chest.  Unable to stop the momentum, I smacked into the person, and immediately noticed a distinctly spicy cologne. *Oh god…*

"You should watch where you're going, Princess," an achingly familiar voice chided, his chest vibrating against my cheek as he spoke.  I shivered at the sound of his voice, a voice that haunted my dreams on occasion.  Hands grasped my arms and I was pulled back to look into soft blue eyes.  "It's good to see you again, Stephy," he softly admitted.

"Jericho…."  My insides turned into mush at his gaze, and I wondered if he knew just how much of an effect he had on me.  Willingly my cheeks not to blush, I pushed away the warmness that filled me and frowned at him.  "You would see me all the time if you hadn't left my show," I bit out, allowing my anger to take control.

His grip on my arms tightened.  "Stephanie…" he drawled out, exasperation tinting his voice.  My fury grew with the tone of his voice, and I quickly tore my arms away from him, crossing them defiantly.  I sent him a look, daring him to continue.  "I couldn't pass up the opportunity.  Can you blame me?  Look what I've become here, the King of the World…"

I cut him off with a gesture.  "You lied to me.  I asked you if you were happy, if you were loyal to Smackdown; you said one thing and did the complete opposite!  How could you?"  

His eyes narrowed, and I knew the conversation was about to get ugly.  "Such high standards about honesty Stephy, but do you ever apply them to yourself?  Or maybe lying to your husband about being pregnant is acceptable behavior to you!"

My blood chilled at his words.  I stared at him in shock as he smirked, obviously pleased with his cleverness.  While we were business partners, I had told him in the strictest confidence my reasons for hating Hunter, starting with his general disregard for my feelings throughout our farce of a marriage and ending with his recent affair with a physical therapist named Mandy.  He held me as I cried over my broken marriage, telling me that he believed me, and that my pregnancy scam was well-justified.  Now, feeling completely betrayed, I reached back to smack him, then stopped short as my eyes blurred.  His eyes grew wide; I cringed as he watched the first tear fall down my cheek and onto my exposed chest.  Horrified that I was crying, that HE saw me crying, I pushed past him and ran to my dressing room, ignoring him as he called out my name.

*How could he say that to me?* I kept asking myself.  Rushing past idle wrestlers, I kept my head down to conceal my tears.  Finally reaching my dressing room, I burst in, turned to lock the door, then slumped down to the floor.  

"Stephanie?!  What's wrong?!" I heard Kurt ask.  I hid my face from him, unable to regain my composure.  I sensed someone sitting down beside me; then a hand brushed against my arm.  "Stephanie… please…" Kurt begged from his position beside me.  

Pulling my hands from my face, I looked into his concerned blue eyes.  "I… I ran into Jericho!" I sobbed.  Kurt frowned, then taking my arm he pulled me into his lap, holding me tightly.  His comforting gesture made me sob harder, and I buried my face into his shoulder.  His hands traced small circles on my back.

"Steph, baby, please calm down," Kurt murmured.  He pulled back to look into my eyes.  "Jericho is nothing, got it?  Don't let him get the best out of you."

I shook my head, forcing myself to stop sobbing.  "You don't understand Kurt, he already did.  He saw me start to cry.  He'll never let me live this down!"  A few more tears fell down my cheeks, and I wiped at them angrily.  "I hate him so much sometimes!"  

Kurt frowned, removing a hand from my back to remove any errant tears.  "I'll take care of him tonight Steph.  He'll pay for making you cry."  His eyes hardened with anger as he stood up, pulling me up to stand before him.  "I'll make him tap!"

"Kurt!  You're not even fighting him tonight; Shane is sending Evolution as his RAW tag team," I protested, frowning a bit at the thought of my ex-husband.  

"You just let me take care of that."  Grinning like a maniac, Kurt unlocked the door and quickly exited the room.  

"Kurt!!!!" I shouted after him, watching him run down the hallway and knowing he wouldn't stop.  Exasperated, I re-entered my room and made my way to the bathroom to reapply my make-up.  When Kurt was on a mission, there was no stopping him.

Kurt was never one to disappoint, and tonight was no exception.  Hell-bent on "regaining my honor" (as he liked to call it), he jumped both Randy Orton and Ric Flair backstage, taking them both out of the tag match tonight with some well-placed chair shots.  Infuriated, Shane told Triple H to find a suitable replacement - which he did in Chris Jericho.  Initially I was pleased, and pressed Kurt to make Jericho suffer.  However, as I now paced the gorilla for the second time that evening, I felt my nerves start to take over.

"Kurt, maybe this wasn't such a good idea," I started.  "All this did was fire up Triple H."

Kurt looked up at me from the floor and stopped stretching.  "Steph, I am an Olympic Gold Medalist!  I won the gold medal with a freakin' broken neck!  Do you honestly think that I can't handle your ex-husband and that punk Jericho, because I'll make them both tap, it's DAMN TRUE!"  I rolled my eyes at Kurt's oh-so-familiar story.

"Yo, don't forget about me Angle," John Cena said as he entered the gorilla area, Dawn Marie in tow.  "Triple H thinks he's the game; well I'm the baddest playa that RAW has ever seen!"  He leaned against the wall, his positioning resembling that of a bouncer.

Grinning from ear to ear, Dawn reached up to give John a loud kiss on the cheek.  "Isn't he clever?" she sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder.  I groaned, unable to stomach any of my Smackdown cohorts at the present moment.

Thankfully, the technician came up to us, signaling that it was time for our entrance.  Grabbing Kurt's hand, I pulled him up from the floor and towards the curtain as Dawn gave John a kiss good luck.  Kurt's music then began to blast in the arena, and we hurried up the stairs and out onto the stage.  Pausing between the two men as they posed for the crowd, I felt my smirk slide into place and knew that a Smackdown victory was in the bag.  When we reached the ring, John surprised me by sitting on the middle rope, allowing me to climb inside with ease.  I smiled my thanks, then clapped loudly as Kurt held his world title in the air, while John flashed the Longhorn sign.

Kurt's music was then cut short by a loud laugh.  Looking towards the stage, I saw Shane with a microphone, Triple H and Jericho standing behind him.  "Not bad, sis, not bad.  Quite a team you have there."  I nodded.  "Even though your boy Kurt took out Randy and Ric, I still have confidence in my RAW wrestlers… but confidence isn't enough.  How about we make this interesting?"  

Stepping over to Lilian, I asked and took her microphone.  "And how do you propose we do that, Shane?"

Shane grinned.  "A bet.  If my team wins, and I think they will, they get to go to Smackdown this Thursday and take on your tag champions for the title."  Jericho and Hunter looked a bit surprised by this, but the crowd loved it.

I paused for a moment, weighing my options.  Shelton Benjamin and Charlie Haas, my tag champions, were good wrestlers, but they would not be able to beat Jericho and Triple H.  Nevertheless, I saw an opportunity, and began smirking as an idea filled my head.  "Okay, Shane, that's fair.  And if MY team wins, which I KNOW they will… your boys have to participate in a little match on Smackdown…."  Trailing off, I looked at Kurt and began to giggle.

Clearly bored, Hunter grabbed the microphone away from Shane.  "And what kind of match would that be, Steph-an-ie?  Some sort of sick handicap match?"

I frowned.  "Now Hunter, this conversation is between Shane and I, so be a good little boy and shut up!"  The fans laughed, Hunter scowled, and I couldn't help but smile.  *At least the crowd hates Hunter more than me.*  "If my team wins, you and Chris Jericho will face each other in a bra-and-panties paddle-on-a-pole match."  The crowd went nuts, Jericho and Hunter threw a fit yelling at Shane not to do it, and John Cena began to laugh beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders in a show of support.  I looked at Kurt, who nodded in approval.  "So what do you say, Shane?  My tag titles vs. their… assets?"

"Hell NO!" Hunter yelled into the mic, which was removed from his hand by Shane.

"I accept.  May the best brand win!"  With that, the bell rang, and tonight's match was underway.  Jericho and Hunter ran towards the ring, barely allowing me to roll out and take my place beside Shane.  "This was a great idea, Shaney," I commented as both sets of guys duked it out.

Shane smirked at me, then looked back at John and Jericho, who were locked up in the center of the ring.  "This was your great idea Sis, not mine."

"I know, I just wanted you to say it."  I grinned at him as he rolled his eyes.  "Although this bet idea is new; I have to admit that I'm impressed."

"I honestly thought of it as you were walking out.  Wanted the fans to get more involved in the match, although honestly either team winning has its benefits."  Shane gave me a sideways glance.  "I'm sorta hoping we lose so I can see your ex-husband in such a degrading match."

I gave him an evil grin.  "I had my reasons for putting both of those idiots in that match."  At Shane's puzzled look, I sighed and continued.  "I had a little run-in with Jericho backstage after your announcement…"

"Now I understand why Kurt attacked Evolution now; he wanted Jericho in the main event tonight."  I nodded in confirmation.  "What is up with you and him anyway?"

"There is nothing between me and Jericho!" I squeaked out, trying to act indignant and failing miserably.  As my brother's grin widened, I turned my attention back to the ring, feeling my face grow hot.  "Absolutely nothing."

"I meant you and Kurt; but now I think I know what's going on."  I ignored Shane and tried to get back into the match, watching Kurt pummel on Triple H.  Kurt's eyes met mine briefly, then he smiled and pulled my ex-husband up by the hair.

"This is for you, Steph!" he shouted, then gave him an Angle Slam.  I clapped excitedly as Kurt went for the pin, then scowled as Jericho broke it up.  Angle went after Jericho then, giving him a huge German suplex.  "Don't you ever make Stephanie McMahon cry again Jericho, you hear me?" Kurt growled, holding his foot over Jericho's foot.   

"KURT!" I exclaimed, feeling my previous blush grow deeper.  *Did you have to bring that up?!*

Shane grabbed my arm, bringing my attention back to him.  "What is Kurt talking about, why did Jericho make you cry?" Shane demanded, sounding almost brotherly.  

I groaned.  "Shane, it's no big deeee-ahhh!"  A body flew over the top rope; I caught sight of Kurt's patriotic tights before I felt his legs slam into my upper body and fell to the ground, partially pinned.  Pain immediately shot up my already tender left arm (which had swelled after the long plane ride from Connecticut to Miami), and I weakly tried to push the heavy weight off my chest.  

The weight was suddenly lifted, and I rolled to my side, clutching my left arm.  "Shane…" I moaned, unable to lift my head and look for him.  The pain was immense, rivaling that of the surgery from last spring.  Knowing that I needed to get my arm in its pressure cuff, as well as elevate it, I braced my right arm and managed to get into a sitting position.

A hand touched my cheek, and I jumped in surprise.  "Stephanie, are you alright?" Jericho asked, his face hovering just a few inches in front of mine.  I belatedly realized that he was the one that picked Kurt off of me.  Uncomfortable with his close proximity, I averted my eyes away from his questioning ones.  Looking around him, I saw Hunter standing in the ring, leaning against the ropes, with a concerned look on his face.  I then saw John sneaking up behind Hunter, and realized that I had to keep Jericho distracted.

Grabbing his hand, I looked deeply into his eyes.  "What… what happened?" I asked breathlessly, holding his hand against my cheek.  

He stroked my cheek, and I shivered uncontrollably.  "Your idiot ex-husband threw Kurt right into you and your brother, Princess."  His other hand went to my left arm, causing me to yelp in pain.  "Your arm is pretty swollen… I don't think I've ever seen an arm swell this fast before."  I froze, lost in his blue gaze.  *Could he figure out my secret?  There's no way!* "You should have a trainer look at this."

Pushing his hand away from my arm, I sneered at him.  "How sweet, you start caring about me an hour after you call me a lying bitch."  Jericho sighed, reminding me of our previous conversation.  Just catching John rolling up Hunter in my peripheral vision, I cut off Jericho just as he opened his mouth to speak.  "Hey Jericho?"

His mouth twitched, indicating his irritation.  "Yes, Stephy?"

The bell rang three times.  Jericho's head whipped from the time keeper, to the ring, and back to me.  Suspicion filled his features.  "You just lost the match," I managed to chuckle, clutching my left arm to my chest with my right.

Blue eyes darkening with anger, Jericho growled at me before getting up and rolling back into the ring.  Looking to my right, I saw Shane and Kurt still lying in a pile beside me, rubbing various limbs and groaning in pain.  All I could do was laugh; how was I ever going to keep my composure this Thursday, with Hunter and Jericho in a bra and panties match?

END CHAPTER THREE

Author's Notes:  Hey all!  Hope you enjoyed this extremely long installment – I thought I was never going to finish it.  First, I'd like to say that from this point on, there will be little to no correlation between this fictional storyline and the current storylines on television.  That's what fanfiction is all about, right? :)  I would also like to thank everyone for reviewing me, and I hope I can continue to entertain you all!  Take care!


	4. Chapter Four

DISCLAIMER:  I do not own Stephanie McMahon, Dawn Marie, and various other WWE characters that appear in the subsequent story.  They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.  Vince, don't sue me, it's been a miserable semester thus far.

Façade

CHAPTER FOUR

I couldn't keep the smirk off my face as I walked through the arena on Thursday, wrestlers and crew members alike calling out their greetings.  I, however, did not leave RAW unscathed; my lymphodema had become ten times worse with the bruises I received when Kurt slammed into me.  Dawn Marie took me to the emergency room that night after my hand started to resemble a latex glove filled with water.  I was now forced to wear both my cuff at all times, as well as a sling, until the swelling went down.  Fortunately, a long sleeved shirt and the sling hid my gigantic arm from view, and my suit coat, draped over my shoulders, kept the rest of it from sight.  

The constant pain in my arm, however, took a backseat to my thoughts for the evening.  My imagination was working overtime, trying to picture my ex-husband, Hunter, trying to paddle Chris Jericho, wearing nothing but women's lingerie.  *Now I understand what they mean by sweet justice,* I thought as I entered my office, smiling at Dawn Marie, who was already hard at work filing her nails at my desk.  "Any messages?"

Dawn shook her head slowly, still concentrating on her French tips.  "Nope.  But you did get these."  She gestured to a bouquet of white lilies and purple orchids sitting on the corner of my desk.  Curiously, I shrugged my coat off my shoulders and walked over, removing the white note from the rather beautiful arrangement.  "They're from Hunter; why is your ex-husband sending you flowers?"  She looked up at me curiously.

I glared at her.  "I didn't realize it was in your job description to read EVERYTHING that comes in here."  Turning my attention to the note, I recognized my ex-husband's handwriting and read aloud:  "Just wanted to express my apologies once more for the incident this past Monday.  Please forgive me.  Hunter."  Scowling, I threw the card on my desk and gingerly sat down on the nearby leather couch.  "First he calls me, now this… I know he's up to something."

A nail file bounced off my forehead, landing in my lap.  I winced and chucked the offending item back at her.  "He called you and you didn't tell me?" Dawn Marie shrieked, jumping up from the desk chair.  "What the hell, Steph?  I thought I was your best friend!"  She stuck her bottom lip out at me in a pouting gesture.

"Actually, he called me every night this week so far," I admitted, rubbing the spot where the nail file hit my head.  "It was the same conversation each time: He'd ask if I was feeling ok, I would say yes.  He would apologize, stating that he acted instinctually when Kurt rushed him and that he would never intentionally hurt me, and I would tell him that there was no major damage done.  Then a long uncomfortable silence, then he'd tell me he would see me at Smackdown and to sleep well.  That was it."  I looked over at Dawn and frowned; her face had twisted into an evil grin.  "What's with the face?"

"Isn't it obvious?  He still cares about you!"  She stood beside the desk, playing with one of the orchids.  "Phone calls and now flowers.  Oh, and I'm sure you saw his face on the RAW tape; he was horrified when he realized what had happened."

"You live in a fantasy world, Dawn.  Hunter never cared about me, and he's not going to start now," I stated firmly.  If there was anyone I knew better than myself, it was my ex-husband.  "There is an ulterior motive here… I just can't figure out what!"  Frustrated, I pounded the leather cushion beside me with my good hand.

"Maybe he wants to get back together," Dawn teased.  Her smile disappeared after the death glare I sent her way.  "Or maybe he is trying to get out of the match tonight."

My mouth dropped open.  "That's it!  That's exactly it!"  It was so simple; Hunter was trying to grease the wheels and get the match changed tonight.  "Well, that's just too bad.  Did you buy me that camera like I asked?"  I wanted these memories to last forever.  

She nodded, then dug out a Polaroid camera from her purse.  "Nothing like incriminating Polaroids to spice up the Christmas party!" she commented.  

Glancing at my watch, I noticed that I had only a few minutes until the beginning of the show.  "Go get a cameraman Dawn; I'll do my announcements from here."  She nodded and left the room quickly.  Bending down to pick up my coat, I made my way over to my desk, sitting down and adjusting my blazer to cover my sling.

Less than a minute after my assistant had left, a cameraman was up in my face, courtesy of Dawn Marie.  I sent the man a glare, who blanched immediately and backed up a few steps.  "When the pyros end, turn on your camera; I'll make my announcements at that time," I ordered, playing the part of general manager.  

The man nodded, pressing a button on his headset and relaying the message to the production center.  "You've got thirteen seconds until the show begins, Ms. McMahon," he said softly, wiping at his brow before returning his hand to steady the camera balanced on his shoulder. 

I nodded curtly in thanks, training my eye on the red light, waiting for it to illuminate.  Taking a deep breath, I pasted a smirk on my face and organized my thoughts.  *First, remind fans of what happened on RAW, rub it in that Smackdown won, and talk about the main event for tonight… although there really is no incentive for Hunter or Jericho to even show up to the match…*   Suddenly worried about the unpredictability of my main event, I watched as the red light turned on and cleared my throat.   

"Stephanie McMahon, your general manager of Smackdown, here."  I couldn't help but smile wider at the sound of my title.  "As I am sure you are all aware of, last Monday night my Smackdown tag team humiliated the RAW tag team on their own show.  Now, I was never one to rub it in," I let a smirk creep onto my face, "But Shane, I told you so!  As a result, tonight's main event is a rather historic event:  the first ever male bra and panties match in the history of the WWE!  However, I know Chris Jericho and Triple H might be tempted to play hooky; so, in the interest of fairness," I rolled my eyes at the familiar Bischoff phrase, "I will allow….the winner of the match to choose his own reward."  I immediately frowned, hating the stipulation as soon as it came out of my mouth.  

Taking my silence as his cue, the camera went off and the man left.  Alone, I smacked my forehead in disgust.  *I don't like that at ALL!  How could I just blank out like that?  Hunter's going to want a title shot with Kurt, and Jericho… well Jericho will probably want to fight me, after the stunt I pulled last week.*  Angry at myself, I chucked my stone paperweight at the wall, followed closely by my stapler.  Feeling marginally better, I let my jacket fall from my shoulders and rested my head on the desktop, willing myself not to stress out about the match.  Stress would not help my health out in the slightest, and I already had enough problems.  

Hearing the door open, I scowled.  "Don't you knock?"  Wearily, I picked my head up and saw none other than Chris Jericho standing in the middle of my room.  I groaned loudly, checking my bangs to make sure they were in place.  "Well, that didn't take too long.  So what's it gonna be?"  I couldn't believe he already had his reward thought out.

His brow furrowed.  "What's it gonna be?" he repeated.  Before I could clarify, he rushed to my side, kneeling down to examine my left hand.  "Jesus…" he whispered, pressing his fingers into my swollen wrist and pulling them away, watching the indentations slowly fill back up with fluid.  I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to hide the pain.  "When was the last time you had someone look at this?"

I had the urge to flee, but the concern in his blue eyes kept me in my seat.  "Monday."  His hand moved to my wrist again, but I smacked it away.  "It'll be fine, it's just a sprain," I lied.  

He scoffed.  "Your hand is larger than mine, and you think this is ok?"  Standing up, he pulled me out of my desk chair with my good hand.  "We're going to see a trainer NOW," he stated, dragging me towards the door.  

"Let me go!" I shrieked, incapable of pulling my good hand from his strong grip.  Without the use of my right arm, I did the only thing I could do:  I dug my heel into his foot.  He yelped in pain, immediately letting go.  "What is wrong with you?!  I can't see a trainer, you idiot!" I hissed at his bent-over form.  

He looked up suddenly.  "Why not?" he asked, genuinely confused.

I felt the blood leave my face.  *Oh God, I've blown it.* Unable and unwilling to speak, I made a beeline for the door, only to have him beat me to it.  Turning around to lock it, he leaned against the door and raised an eyebrow, obviously waiting for an answer.  

Starting to panic, I reverted back to old tactics.  "Look, Chris, it's just a sprain and I don't want people knowing that I was that badly hurt by Kurt's Olympic behind," I lied, meeting his eyes confidently.  "Frankly, I don't understand why you are insisting upon this."

He looked at me strangely, then began to laugh.  "Geez, Stephy, have you that little faith in me?  I was your partner; I know this trick."  I frowned as he continued to laugh, wiping at his eyes with his hands.  "Seriously, are you sure they didn't use brain mass instead of silicone the last time?"  He smiled indulgently at his own joke.

I had always heard the expression about seeing red; it finally made sense at that moment.  The room seemed to disappear as I focused on a crimson-tinted Jericho.  Filling with rage, I felt my sanity slip and could care less.  Shrieking, I launched myself at him, trying to beat him to a pulp with my one good hand.  *It had to be done!  It had to be done!  It had to be done!* my mind screamed over and over.  The words were familiar, and Chris slowly faded away as I recalled an early July day.

_I could barely sit up straight on the examination table.  I shuddered, hating the room and the smells that accompanied it.   _

_Dr. Pratt walked in, flashing me a warm smile.  "Hello Stephanie.  How are you feeling?"_

_"Tired," I admitted.  "Always tired.  But that should stop soon, right?"_

_Sitting on the stool before me, the doctor patted my hands.  "You finished radiation a week ago, Stephanie.  It'll be awhile before you're back to your old self."_

_I frowned.  My father had contacted me this morning about possibly returning to the WWE, an opportunity I didn't want to miss.  My only option was to work through the fatigue.  "Well, ok, but what about my breasts?  The left one is still noticeably larger than the right."_

_Checking my chart quickly, Dr. Pratt sighed.  "Unfortunately, Stephanie, it doesn't seem that the enlargement is the result of swelling.  Sometimes, radiation therapy can cause the breast tissue to permanently grow.  If the difference in size bothers you, you can ask your plastic surgeon to add fluid to the right implant in order to even out the appearance."_

_I looked down, and couldn't suppress a groan.  I was already uncomfortable with the large implants I currently had; this next enlargement would bring only more unwelcome attention.  "Guess that I don't have a choice," I mumbled.  "If I look normal in the end, it has to be done."_

"…snap out of it!" Chris yelled in my ear.  

Coming back to reality, I found myself struggling in Jericho's embrace, shouting curses and trying to break free.  His left hand gripped my right arm tightly to keep me from striking him again, while his right arm was snaked around my waist.  Stilling my movements, I shut my mouth quickly, feeling my cheeks turn red with embarrassment.  *Christ, way to lose it Steph.*  __

He hadn't spoken since I stopped my attack on him.  Refusing to meet his eyes, I grew rather nervous by our close proximity and decided to try and remove myself from his arms.  I placed my hand on his chest to push away, and was rather surprised to feel him jump at the contact.  I became aware of his chest pounding beneath my hand, and immediately stopped my escape.  A million lusty thoughts rushed through my mind, but most of all I wondered at his reaction.  *Could he possibly be attracted to me after that horrible outburst?* Needing some answers, I dared to look up.

His face did not reflect the desire I felt inside.  Concern furrowed his brow and overpowered all other emotions in his gorgeous eyes.  My hopes dimmed; why did I keep fooling myself into believing that this man has any sort of romantic feelings for me?  Still engulfed by his scent, I pushed myself away from his embrace, his arms releasing their hold on me.  "Please go away," I begged, my voice scratchy from yelling.  Turning away from him, I made my way back to my desk, hoping that I had some tissues stashed there.  I heard the door unlock behind me, and didn't try to hold back a sniffle.  *When am I going to stop crying over hi…*

Before I could finish that thought, I was spun around.  I caught the familiar wild look I his eyes, and knew what was coming.  His left hand caught my chin, tilting it to the right as his lips slammed into mine.  I smiled against his lips, filled with desire, and did what I had wanted to do for ages:  I kissed him back.  

His right hand came to join his left, tickling the sensitive skin behind my ears as they stroked my hair.  Completely turned on, I let out a moan, and was immediately greeted by his tongue.  My knees went weak at the sensation, and I grabbed at his t-shirt with my good hand to keep myself from passing out.  His hands detangled themselves from my hair, and were trailing down my shoulders to my waist when his hand caught my sling the wrong way, jarring my arm.  Fire shot through my wounded appendage, and I tore my mouth away from his with a gasp.  Breathing heavily, I clutched at my arm, the tears stinging at my eyes.  

Chris cursed repeatedly under his breath, wrapping his arms around my waist.  Lips brushed against my forehead.  "I'm sorry Steph… I kind of lost my mind there," he said, his voice filled with regret.  

I winced at his tone and the renewed concern in his eyes.  "Don't apologize!" I admonished, removing my hand from my arm and placing it back on his chest.  "I like when you lose your mind."  I gave him a grin, which he slowly returned.  

"Is that so?" he responded, tilting his head towards mine again.  I licked my lips, ready for round two despite the ruthless pain in my arm. 

A knock came at the door, startling both of us and thoroughly ruining the moment.  I scurried away behind my desk, afraid of whom it might be.  "Come in!" I called out, rubbing around my lips to remove any possible smudges.

"Steph, it's me," Hunter announced himself as he entered the room.  He first noticed Chris, who was sending him a rather deathly glare, and patted him on the back.  "Jericho!  You're still here!  Did you get us out of it?"

I slammed my hand into my desk, irritated at my ex-husband for multiple reasons, starting with his impeccable timing.  "I am standing right here Hunter!" I bellowed.  *Wait a second… did he say 'get us out of it'?* Processing what Hunter said, I narrowed my eyes at a visibly nervous Chris.  "Get you out of what, Jericho?" I asked through clenched teeth, already knowing the answer.

Chris opened his mouth to speak, but Hunter decided to answer for him.  "Out of this stupid match.  Seriously, Stephanie, you can't have me in this girly match; I'm the RAW champion for Christ's sake!"  His eyes pleaded with mine before catching sight of the flowers on my desk.  "I even sent you flowers, and I'm sure Jericho offered you something better just now…"

I stared at Jericho, waiting for him to deny Hunter's words, but his attention was focused on my ex-husband.  My heart crashed to the floor.  *He kissed me… to get out of the match?!*  "That is it!" I screeched, on the brink of another breakdown.  Grabbing my blazer, I pushed past the two men and rushed out of the office.  Unable to leave the arena, and knowing that Dawn Marie and John Cena were 'busy', I made my escape to Kurt's locker room.  My insides were crumbling by the time I reached his room.  Knocking quickly, I didn't wait for an invitation and rushed inside.

Sitting on a chair, Kurt immediately jumped up.  "Steph!" he exclaimed indignantly.  "I could have been naked!"

I didn't know whether to laugh or groan at his comment; then my body decided for me and I began to cry.  "I'm sorry Kurt," I whined, going over to his open arms.  "I'm sure you're getting sick of me crying to you all the time…"

"That's not true," he interrupted, hugging me carefully around my sling.  "What did Jericho say this time?"

I cringed at Jericho's name, burrowing my face in Kurt's neck.  "God Kurt, if you only knew…" I trailed off, leaning back to look into his eyes.  *Dawn Marie is so busy with John Cena these days… maybe it's time to tell someone else.*  Quickly deciding to give Kurt the benefit of the doubt, I pushed him back down on the chair, sitting in his lap.  "Kurt?  Can you keep a secret?" I asked nervously.  

END CHAPTER FOUR

Author's notes:  I know, I know, it's been forever since I updated.  Blame my senior year of college and my inability to properly manage my time.  However, I appreciate each and every one of you coming back to read my story, and all those who review and give me some sort of redemption for not reading my business law chapter tonight :) 

I am currently looking for an editor, because when I do have a few hours to finally write I never have the time to check for bad grammar and spelling.  E-mail me if you're interested, and I'll forever be in your debt!

Don't worry, dear reader, the bra and panties match will appear in the next chapter.  Plus, as I promised a few of you, the details of Stephanie's condition are starting to seep out.  I won't string you along much longer; however, you can visit breastcancer.org and do your own research on breast cancer.  Until next time (and probably next month), take care!  


	5. Chapter Five

DISCLAIMER:  I do not own Stephanie McMahon, Kurt Angle, and various other WWE characters that appear in the subsequent story.  They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.  Vince, don't sue me, we haven't covered intellectual property in my business law class yet. 

Façade

CHAPTER FIVE

"And that's why my arm resembles a water balloon," I finished.  Taking a deep breath, I wiped the remaining tears away and waited for Kurt to respond.  Kurt, however, continued to pace silently before me, an action he had kept up during my entire revelation.  His lips moved soundlessly as he tried to comprehend everything I had told him, or so I assumed.  Watching him move, I sighed loudly, hoping to spark some sort of reaction from him.

Stopping suddenly, Kurt slammed his fist into the wall directly above my head.  I cringed as angry blue eyes pinned me down.  "What the hell am I to you Steph?" he demanded, placing his hands on my shoulders.

I blinked; this wasn't the response I had planned on.  Disbelief, yes, maybe even some tears, but definitely NOT a discussion on our relationship.  "Excuse me?"

"I thought we were best friends."  His voice was laced with hurt. 

I winced, placing my good hand on top of one of his.  "Kurt, I'm sorry," I whispered, resisting the urge to cry yet again.  "I didn't want to tell you because… well," I hesitated.  *Does he really need to know this?*  "I wanted you to think I wasn't weak anymore." 

He kneeled between my legs, brushing the hair back from my face.  "When did you start thinking that?  Heck, you're the strongest person I know!" he exclaimed.  

I couldn't hold back my surprise.  "Every day after I was forced to leave, you would call my house and tell me how sorry you were.  About my lack of job, about my separation issues with Hunter, about everything!"  I sniffled loudly, looking down.  "I hated it.  I didn't want you to worry about me.  I wanted to be the strong Stephanie McMahon that you first became friends with, not some sickly pathetic loser that you had to check up on."

Kurt guffawed loudly.  "Like I would ever think that!"  I gave him a watery smile through new tears.  "Oh geez, don't start crying again, I barely held out the last time!"  He wrapped me up in a hug, carefully avoiding my sling.  "From now on, I want to know everything that is going on with you, ok?"

"Alright," I mumbled into his shoulder.  Sore arm and red eyes aside, I felt like a million bucks.  *Who'd thought telling the truth could feel so good?*

"Good."  He squeezed me tighter.  "And I am taking care of you from now on.  I don't like the fact that Dawn spends all her time with that punk Cena."  Kurt spat out his recent tag team partner's name, and I held back a giggle.  "I mean, where does that kid get off, seriously?  Going to the ring and rapping whenever he wants.  I am the Champion, and I don't even get that much mic time, oh it's so true!"

I sighed.  "Way to ruin the moment, Angle," I admonished with a smile.  I knew, however, that he was trying to change the subject for my benefit.  Pulling back a bit, I gave him a peck on the cheek in thanks.  

Kurt's locker room door suddenly swung open, revealing an out-of-breath Dawn Marie.  "Steph!  The main event is starting in five minutes, we don't have a paddle, and you…" She paused, eyeing Kurt.  "And you are in Kurt's arms."  

I could hear the wheels in her head turning in the romantic direction, and put up a hand.  "Dawn, I told Kurt about last spring," I stated.  

Her eyes widened.  "Are you serious?"  Not waiting for an answer, she rushed over to us, placing a hand on my head.  "What happened?  Are you ok?"

"Yes Mom," I groaned.  For a girl who spent the majority of her time acting immaturely, she could be rather overbearing.  "We can all talk about this later… now what did you mean when you said we don't have a paddle?"

She frowned, then handed me my purse.  "Here, we have to get to the ring if you want to take those pictures.  The camera is in there, along with your compact; you should redo your eye makeup on the way to the ring."  She continued to chatter as Kurt and I got up and followed her outside towards the gorilla.  "Apparently the crew members don't keep a paddle with all the other hardcore items.  I asked around, but none of the wrestlers have one either."

*Why didn't I think of buying one on the way to the arena?*  "Bischoff probably owns the one they use on RAW, that sick bastard," I grumbled.  "I guess the match will have to be strictly bra and panties."  Reaching into my purse, I retrieved my compact and went to work on my puffy eyes.

Five hundred feet and a quick makeover later, I stood face-to-face with Hunter and Jericho, wearing baggy T-shirts and workout pants.  Unable to look Chris in the eyes, I smirked at my ex-husband.  "You had better be wearing the proper ring attire underneath there, otherwise you can forget about your reward."

Hunter rolled his eyes.  "Whatever Steph.  Enjoy this while you can, because I can guarantee you that my reward will ruin your precious show, when I take the title from the Olympic Dork over there."  

"Hey!" Kurt exclaimed, placing an arm around my waist.  "Even if you were to win tonight, 'The Game'," he mocked, making rabbit ears with his fingers, "You could never beat me with that prosthetic leg you have now."

Hunter's face darkened, and I couldn't help but add my own two cents.  "You should really call yourself 'The Lame', honey; it would properly capture your current image."  Predictably, Hunter lunged at Kurt and I; Kurt stepped in front of me and proceeded to exchange glares with my ex-husband, standing inches away from one another.  "Don't get your panties in a twist, Hunter!  You can always form a tag team with Zach Gowen!" I exclaimed over Kurt's shoulder.  

As they stared each other down, I was reminded of my partnership with Jericho all those months ago; how we riled up my husband in a similar fashion.  I stole a glance in his direction, studying his face as he watched Hunter and Kurt begin to shout at each other, and couldn't help but think about that kiss we shared in my office.  *Why can't you want me the way I want you?* I wondered sadly.

Blinking, his gaze snapped to meet mine.  Realizing that he caught me staring, I immediately turned to Dawn Marie, handing her the camera from my purse.  "Here, I can't take pictures with this stupid sling; will you do it for me?" I asked, my face hot with embarrassment.  I could feel Jericho's eyes still on me, and I cursed my teenager-ish behavior.  

"Really?  Are you sure?"  Not waiting for an answer, she fiddled with the camera and smiled.  "Don't worry; I'll take some great shots for you."  She waggled her eyebrows at me, and I couldn't hold back a grin.  Her face, however, turned serious as she met my eyes.  "Why are you all red?" she asked with concern.  "Are you feeling ok?"

Her comment caused my cheeks to burn even more.  "Yes," I hissed out, glaring at her.  

She frowned, placing a hand on my forehead.  "Your face is completely flushed, are you sure you're ok?"

Suddenly, Kurt was at my side.  "What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.  I sighed, realizing that his overprotective nature was just about to kick in, thanks to my revelation to him earlier.  "Is everything ok?" he whispered loudly, giving me a pointed look and placing his hand under Dawn Marie's.

I threw up my hands in frustration.  "I'm fine!  Fine fine fine!  So stop asking me!"  Everyone looked at me in surprise, and I felt my temper flare.  "You two," I pointed to Chris and Hunter. "Get out to the ring, now!  The match should have started thirty seconds ago!  You," I pointed at Dawn Marie. "Get out there and take those pictures for me!  And you," I looked at Kurt, removing his hand from my forehead.  "Go shower or something and stop staring at me!"  With a final wave of my arms, I stormed off to my office, locking the door behind me and turning on the TV.

I shrugged off my jacket and sat on the couch while Jericho and then Hunter made their entrances to the ring, both looking annoyed.  As the ref ordered them to strip down, Dawn Marie was caught scurrying down the ramp, Polaroid camera flashing.  

Jericho was the quicker of the two, standing in a mismatched set of a floral shelf bra and baby blue boy shorts within seconds.  Despite looking ridiculous, the women in the audience filled the arena with whistles and catcalls.  He grinned cockily at Hunter, posing with a flexed bicep towards Dawn Marie and the camera.  I gaped; first at his gorgeous lower abs, and secondly at the large bulge that the boy shorts couldn't hide.  

The camera then cut to Hunter, and I shut my mouth in exasperation.  "I've already seen this show," I muttered out loud as my ex-husband revealed a rather expensive looking black lace bra and matching panties.  His chest was so large that the bra was barely hooked in the back; his panties, however, did not strain as much as Jericho's.  I snickered as the cheering and whistling diminished.  Shunned by the crowd, Hunter's face filled with rage, and he struck Jericho with his right hand, causing the match to start.

My snickering grew to laughter as the RAW wrestlers found that wrestling in women's underwear caused new issues to arise.  First, Hunter dropped Jericho as he attempted a body slam, spooked by the amount of Jericho he was actually touching.  Then, Jericho went to chop Hunter's chest, but was simultaneously distracted and blocked by Hunter's bra.  They battled back and forth, carefully at times, while I watched on with glee.  *Man, I hope Shane is watching this,* I thought to myself; my absent brother was missing quite a show.

Eventually, Jericho got the upper hand, landing a bulldog on Hunter.  Pulling Hunter to the center of the ring, he turned his head as he locked my ex in the Walls of Jericho.  Hunter, however, refused to tap out, even when his struggling caused his bra to finally unsnap and tangle around his neck.  Crawling to the side of the ring, he grabbed the bottom rope, ripping the undergarment away from his face.  The referee went to Jericho to break the hold, which he did, reluctantly. 

While the ref's back was turned, the camera spied Kurt at ringside with a chair.  I sat forward on the couch, wondering what my best friend was planning.  I didn't have to wait long; three seconds later, Hunter received a face full of chair as he continued to lean on the bottom rope.  Kurt dropped the chair and ran, while Jericho yanked Hunter over for the pin to capitalize.  My breath caught in my throat as Jericho got the three-count and was declared the winner of the match.  

"Oh god…" I whispered out loud as the ref raised Jericho's hand in victory.  I couldn't begin to imagine what his reward would be; only that he would try his damndest to screw me over.  Standing up, I rushed over to my desk, throwing everything back into my briefcase.  I could do my work back at the hotel, away from Jericho and his reward and his amazing lips…

"Stephanie," Jericho's voice echoed from the television.  My hands froze on the zipper of my briefcase as I returned my attention back to the TV.  "Well well well, look who won this ridiculous match.  Me!"  The crowd booed, making him grin.  "Boo all you like, but not too long ago you were cheering for this nearly naked living legend."  He posed again for the crowd, who continued to boo despite the number of flashbulbs that went off.  "And since I beat your ex-husband, Stephy, I get to name my reward.  And believe me, princess, I thought of a good one."  I cringed at his sardonic grin. "You see, Stephy baby, my Highlight Reel is the biggest thing on RAW; but I want it to be bigger.  As big as the King of the World himself!"  Pausing, he stared into the camera, and I couldn't help but feel cornered.  "So starting next week, the Highlight Reel will be on both Monday AND Thursday nights.  And my inaugural Smackdown guest will be none other than the billion dollar princess herself, Stephanie McMahon."  He winked as the WWE logo came up and the screen faded to black.  

"This is definitely not good," I mumbled, going to turn off the TV.  Not only would I have to avoid him twice a week from now on, I'd also have to endure his ridicule on his show.  I quickly gathered my things, unlocked the door to my office, and made my way to the parking lot, feeling completely vulnerable.  There was no way of knowing what he would say to me next Monday, what he would tell the audience; and the lack of control was eating at my nerves.  Spying my limo to the immediate left of the arena entrance, I handed the chauffeur my briefcase and got into the back seat.  I waited nervously until the limo started moving, then breathed a sigh of relief, leaning down to remove my shoes.

"I had a feeling you would run off again."  My breath caught in my throat as I looked up into Jericho's eyes.  He sat directly across from me, wearing a towel over his 'ring attire'.  "Good thing I had my bag packed already."  He gestured to the gym bag beside him on the seat.  

*Why did I have to get the biggest limo again?* I wondered.  Even if I had looked up, I probably wouldn't have noticed him; he was a good ten feet away from me.  "I think you have a secret pension for wearing women's underwear," I commented, gesturing at mangled bra he still wore.

He looked down, and blushed slightly as he unhooked the lingerie.  I eyed the newly exposed skin before meeting his eyes again.  "Enjoy the show?" he smirked, tossing the item at me. 

Shrieking, I threw the sweaty bra back at him.  "You're disgusting," I chided, turning to look out the window.  Even though he was sweaty, smelly, and dressed in obviously borrowed women's underwear, I was still turned on.  I groaned inwardly, wondering why my libido was in overdrive every time Chris Jericho was around, and tried to convince myself it was because I hadn't had sex in over a year.

"So, what did you think of my reward?"  I ignored him, staring out at the dark streets of Orlando.  Catching my drift, he sighed and fidgeted in his seat.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw him looking out of his own window, and suppressed a smirk, pleased that I 'won' this battle.  

Listening to the car hum, I quickly became bored with the local scenery.  I itched to start a new quarrel with Jericho, but decided to turn my attention to my wounded arm.  The painful throbs had ceased during my talk with Kurt; upon further examination I noticed that the swelling had gone down marginally.  I knew that I had to get the pressure cuff off for awhile, until my flight home tomorrow caused it to swell once again.  Continuing to ignore Jericho (whom I hoped wouldn't start asking questions again), I reached behind my neck and unclipped the sling, scratching the irritated skin on my nape happily.  Removing the sling from my arm, I rolled up the sleeve of my black blouse and took a deep breath, ready to roll down the cuff.

I heard rather than saw Jericho get up, taking a seat besides me.  I paused, sending him a questioning look, which he returned with caution.  "Let me?" he asked simply, touching the black bruise that was just visible above the cuff.  

*It DOES hurt a lot less if someone else does it for you.*  Before I knew it, I nodded slowly, keeping his gaze while holding my sleeve up for him.  "It's easier if you roll it down, instead of pulling from the bottom," I suggested quietly, turning my attention to his soft touch.  I held my breath as he slowly rolled down the cuff to my wrist, trying not to yelp as the blood rushed to my hand.  His hands left my wrist to trace the black and red mottled skin, careful not to press too hard.  I grew warmer as he continued to caress my arm, and knew that I had to distance myself, and fast.  Clearing my throat, I let go of my sleeve and placed a hand on his wrist, pushing him away.  "Thank you," I whispered.

Jericho's eyes met my own, his hand now caressing my own with the same softness.  "I hate to bring this up again, but I think this arm needs to be checked out again."  His eyes held a plea to agree with him.  

I shook my head stubbornly.  "No.  There is nothing else they can do, except prescribe painkillers."  Running my hand nervously through my hair, I made the quick decision to tell him just enough to keep him from dragging me to the hospital.  However, I was unsure of where to stop; plus, could I really trust him with even a minimal amount of information?  "If I tell you something… something private… could you keep it a secret?"

He continued to caress my hand, nodding in consent.  I frowned, stopping his movements with my swollen hand.  "I'm serious, Chris.  I don't want this getting around, especially on the Highlight Reel…" I trailed off, beginning to lose my nerve.  

Jericho studied me for a moment, and then nodded again.  "This has to be good, if you're this paranoid about me tattling."

I sent him an exasperated look, but he merely shrugged and waited for my revelation.  Taking a deep breath, I pushed away the fear and gave in to the urge to tell him.  "My arm isn't sprained.  My lymphedema is acting up because of the bruising; the doctor calls it a traumatic injury.  My arm should be back to normal in a few weeks."  His eyes held a question, and I had a good idea of what that question was.  "Lymphedema occurs when the lymph fluid cannot drain properly from an appendage.  I had a few lymph nodes removed from my left armpit last spring.  Kurt smashing into me on Monday caused the blockage, so my arm is basically a water balloon filled with lymph fluid.  The fluid has to drain through the bloodstream, which takes a lot longer…"

"Wait a second," Jericho interrupted, running a hand through his matted hair.  "Why did you have to have them removed?  That's not a common procedure or anything."

I shook my head; if I told him they were cancerous, he would only ask more questions.  Turning to look out the window again, I tried to smile.  "I told you why my arm is swollen so you wouldn't drag me to the hospital.  I never agreed to tell you my entire medical history."

"Are you sick or something?" he asked quietly.  My eyes flew to his in horror; before I could mask my expression, he held my chin in place in order to keep eye contact.  "You are sick, your face gives it away."  

The wheels in my brain churned out lie after excuse after explanation, but none were satisfactory.  It had been proven time and time again that he knew me well enough to call any bullshit I threw his way; therefore I settled on a half-truth.  "I am not sick anymore, not since I had my lymph nodes removed."  *I'm in remission now* my brain finished.  Still not convinced, he shook his head, and I reached up to touch the hand that held my chin.  "I'm ok," I murmured.

The look was back in his eyes, the one I had seen hours ago.  He was going to kiss me; but this time, I couldn't let it happen.  * He only kissed you last time to get out of a match,* a voice in my head sang out, and I winced.  However, as he leaned closer, I gave in and allowed his lips to brush mine.  

"Ms. McMahon?"  We both jumped as the chauffeur spoke through the speaker.  "We have arrived at the hotel.  May I assist you in exiting the limo?"  

Jericho mumbled something about impeccable timing as I leaned over to hit the intercom button.  "That would be great, thanks."  Picking up my sling and my cuff, I opened the door.

His hand grabbed my arm gently.  "Stephy," he began.  

Suddenly fear coursed through me, and I didn't want to hear what he had to say.  "Stop it," I bit out, shaking off his grip.  "You kissed me earlier to get out of a match, and now you do it out of pity?  You're sick!"  My voice rose as I became more upset.  

"Steph…"

"Stop playing with me, dammit!" I screeched, channeling my father.  Climbing out of the limo, I grabbed my suitcase from the driver and made my getaway into the hotel.  Running away from Jericho was becoming second nature, and yet I had no idea why I kept doing it.  *I'll have to discuss it with Dr. McKeon tomorrow.*

END CHAPTER FIVE

Author's notes:  First off, Happy November!  Sorry I couldn't churn this out sooner; the story is written in my head people, I just don't have the time to type it out.  Stupid higher education and the petty demands of the dictators (see: professors) here.  However, like I have said before, I appreciate you coming back and reading each new chapter.

I'd like to thank everyone who did the free mammogram link during the last few days of October.  It was a true deal- you didn't have to buy anything, it literally took a second, and you could possibly save a life.  If only all things were this simple.  

Oh, and EdgeChick816 - do you still want to edit these things?  Let me know!  

Take care and bring on the reviews.  Or e-mails.  Or IMs.  :)


	6. Chapter Six

DISCLAIMER:  I do not own Stephanie McMahon, Kurt Angle, and various other WWE characters that appear in the subsequent story.  They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.  Louise McKeon is my own fictional character; any semblance to an actual person is coincidental and accidental.  She can be borrowed with my explicit permission.  Vince, please don't sue me, I can barely scrape together enough money to go to Taco Bell these days.

Façade

CHAPTER SIX

            "Miss McMahon!  Come in!" Dr. McKeon greeted warmly, stepping aside from her office doorway.  Faking a smile, I walked past her and examined her office.  The entire north wall was a small library of books and journals.  Leather armchairs were scattered throughout, while the trademark couch stood before a large picture window.  Uncomfortable with the idea of lying down, I chose to sit in a cozy leather armchair that sat before a rather handsome oak desk.  

            A hand touched the top of my sling. "My goodness, what happened to your arm?"

            "Accident at work," I replied, laughing inwardly at the thought of Kurt's behind as an accident.

            The doctor nodded, taking a seat on the opposite side of the desk.  "Well I hope your lymphedema gets better soon, before more drastic measures must be taken."  I looked at her with surprise, until I realized that I had mentioned my lymph node removal at the last support group meeting.  *She's good,* I thought to myself, watching her lean back in her chair, her face filled with unrepressed curiosity.  "Why have you come today, Miss McMahon?"

            I frowned.  *Didn't she _chase_ me down in the parking lot and _beg_ me to come to see her? * "Why did I come?" I repeated.  "Didn't you want me to come?"

            She let out a short laugh, her hand covering a small grin.  "I am just surprised to see you, is all.  You haven't let your guard down since we met."

            My frown grew deeper as I took in her comment.  This experience was becoming more regrettable by the minute.  "Maybe you haven't earned my trust yet," I shot back, crossing my right arm over my sling.  

            She held up her hands in surrender. "Please don't get offended!  I was just speaking my mind.  Psychologists tend to do that."  I rolled my eyes.  "Believe it or not, I've seen this before.  Your behavior is similar to that of a cancer survivor."

            "Really?"  I couldn't hold back my curiosity.

            "Well, yes and no.  All cancer patients are initially in shock and become overprotective of their personal lives.  But it appears you never moved on from this stage."  She paused, leaning closer.  "I wonder… how many people know about your ordeal?"

            I frowned deeper.  "What does that have to do with anything?"  Dr. McKeon gave me a pointed look, her ever-present smile fading, and I sighed.  Like it or not, Dawn Marie had convinced me earlier in the week that therapy could help me out; in order for this to work, though, I'd have to play along.  "Besides you and the support group, two people."

            I waited for a look of shock, disbelief, any change in emotion.  Instead she continued to hold my gaze.  "And are these two people family members?"

            "No."

            This garnered a furrowed brow.  "You mean to tell me that the two that know do not include your parents?"

            I shrugged; this woman obviously did not watch WWE programming.  My family was lucky to have two speaking members at once, much less entire family confessionals.  "I have a rather atypical family, Dr. McKeon.  I have only told my two best friends."  A thought crossed my mind, and I felt the need to continue.  "An employee knows about my lymphedema, but I'm afraid he'll know the truth soon enough."

            "Why is that?"  

            I sighed at her question.  "If you met him, you'd understand.  He's arrogant and conceited and loves seeing me at a disadvantage."  *And gorgeous!* my mind added, bringing a recent bra and panties match to mind.

            Dr. McKeon waved a dismissive hand.  "I meant, why are you afraid?"

            I looked down, contemplating her question.  *Why was I afraid of him knowing?*  "I just am.  It'll ruin everything I have worked for."

            "Ruin everything, huh," she repeated, making a random note on a piece of paper.  Tapping a finger against her lips, she appraised me for a moment.  "How long have you had feelings for this employee?"

            I flushed.  How in God's name did she come up with that!  "I am not in love with him!" I retorted.

            She gave me a large smile.  "Oh, so you're in love with him."  Realizing my blunder, I covered my eyes with my free hand and groaned.  "It's ok Miss McMahon.  You obviously care about him, enough that you don't want him to see you in any negative light."  She took a breath and leaned forward, capturing my attention with a rather serious face.  "You've spent over a year building a wall to protect yourself from others, including him.  However, you've also kept in the pain of cancer.  You may be in remission physically, but mentally you haven't healed a bit."

            I was both speechless and skeptical.  It made sense, but could my pain really be characterized in such a selfish light?  "So you're saying that I'm mentally ill?"  I purposely misunderstood, wanting a clarification.

            Dr. McKeon smiled, moving to stand up.  "You know I didn't say that.  You are a very perceptive young lady.  Stubborn, but perceptive."  I began to retort when she held up a hand, going to stand by her window.  "Miss McMahon, hear me out for a second:  I want to help you take down this wall.  I want you to heal.  I want you to be able to trust people and actually live your life, because you have been given a second chance at it!  But you're going to have to stop arguing with me and start changing your attitude to what happened to you!"

            My temper rose, and I stood up as well.  "First of all, I argue with everyone, Dr. McKeon, and I have no intentions of changing that."  Giving a smirk, I mulled over her proposal and decided to run with it.  "Secondly, I know it was wrong to keep people from knowing, including my family, but there were circumstances that you just don't understand…"

            "… Like your ex-husband and your father kicking you out of the WWE?"  

            I gaped openly.  "How on Earth…" I stammered out.

            "I had a patient a few months ago who was an employee of your company, and I found myself having to watch the shows to see how my treatment was working.  Your name rang a bell at the first support group meeting."  She looked at me smugly.  "I decided against outing you to the other survivors; after all, we all need our anonymity from time to time."

            "Who was it?" I asked curiously, ignoring her latter comments.  

            "Patient-doctor confidentiality, Miss McMahon.  I'm afraid that I cannot tell you that privileged information."  Moving away from the window, she came to stand before me, extending her hand.  "I'll accept the fact that each meeting will be a battle, as long as you give my opinions a chance.  Deal?"

            Looking at her hand, I found myself torn between accepting her help, or running away from all this psychological bullshit.  "Oh why the hell not," I mumbled, shaking her hand fervently.  "It can't be any worse than what I'm doing now, can it?"

            Dr. McKeon chuckled at my words, then led me to her office door.  "I think that's enough for today, Miss McMahon.  I'll see you next week for our first real session."

            I returned her smile involuntarily, my spirits lifted by our deal.  "Ok.  See you soon."  Nodding at her one last time, I turned and sped out of the door, happy to be leaving half an hour earlier than expected.

            Exiting the office building, I quickly made my way to my car, digging into my pocket to retrieve my keys.  Once inside, I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was even holding.  My mind turned over what she had said during our brief meeting.  *My secret is more cancerous than the cancer itself… *  Needing a second opinion, I grabbed my cell phone out of my purse and called Kurt as I guided my car towards the highway.

            "Hey Steph!  I was just about to call you and see how things went!" Kurt exclaimed over the line.  Caller ID was his favorite technological advance to date.

            "Hey Kurt," I smiled into the phone, happy that he had remembered about my appointment.  "We just finished, and I have to say, it wasn't that bad."

            Kurt made a contented hum.  "See, now, Dawn and I told you it would help!  So what did you talk about?  What did she say?"

            I chuckled at his curiosity.  "Sorry Kurt, that's all confidential.  Wouldn't want to break the doctor-patient trust."  

            "Oh, come on, I've been waiting all day after the autograph session," he whined.  "I would have flown up to Greenwich afterwards and met you for dinner if you hadn't been so obstinate."

            I sighed.  "Kurt, you know exactly why wouldn't let you come up here tonight."

            "Because you take pleasure out of suppressing your best friend's good intentions?"

            I had to giggle at that.  "Well, that, and the last time you stayed at my place you clogged my downstairs toilet with puke."  He growled playfully as I reflected on that night.  "Who'd thought that _my_ Olympic Hero would succumb to only five Heineken's?"

            "Hey!  That's the reason I always stick to milk!" he defended.  We laughed together for a few minutes, until I was reminded of the real reason I called and stopped laughing abruptly.  "Hey, what's wrong?"

            "Kurt…" I hesitated briefly, then pushed my fears aside.  "Do you think that I should tell everyone about the cancer?"

            The line was silent for a moment.  "Well, eventually…"  He trailed off, then cleared his throat.  "I mean, once you are more comfortable with it.  I think it could be really good for you to get it off your chest.  You won't have to worry about the secret being discovered because you did the revealing… does that make sense?"

            I groaned.  "Perfect sense, unfortunately.  I was afraid you were going to say that."

            "It's your decision Steph.  I will support you no matter what.  I'm just glad you told me."

            I smiled.  "Honestly, Kurt, so am I."  Turning my attention back to the road, I saw that I was nearing my neighborhood and had to chuckle at my autopilot driving skills.  "Well, I'm almost home.  Can I call you later?"

            "Actually, no.  I have plans."

            I frowned.  "Really?  Do you have a date?" I asked, turning my car into my driveway.

            "Yep, dinner with my best friend."  

            "What!"  Confused, I looked up to see a figure waving on my front porch.  "Kurt, you idiot!" I cried happily as I turned off the ignition and scrambled to get out of my car.

            "Steph, you can hang up the phone now," he laughed.  Hitting the end button, I raced over and gave him a huge hug with my right arm.  "What a greeting!" he commented, returning my hug carefully.

            Pulling back, I punched his shoulder with a smirk.  "I told you to stay in Florida," I growled, then hugged him tighter.  

            "You can't order me around outside the arena, Ms. McMahon," he joked lightly.  "Besides, I told you, we're in this together now."

            "Oh Kurt."  That was all I could manage to say.  Blinking back tears, I thanked   
God once again for giving me such a great friend.  Breaking our hug, I gave him a huge smile before walking around him to open the front door.

            Stepping out of my shoes in the foyer, I tossed my purse and keys on the side table, immediately taking note of the blinking light on the answering machine.  "That's strange," I mumbled aloud.

            "What's strange?" Kurt asked, hopping on one foot as he yanked his boot off of the other.

            I pointed to the machine.  "Someone called my house phone.  Nobody ever does that."  Reaching over, I hit the blinking button, shrugging off my coat in the process.

            *BEEP* "Stephanie… It's Chris."  I froze in mid-shrug, staring at the machine and the scratchy voice it emanated.  "I tried calling your cell phone, but I guess you've gotten a new number in the last year and a half."  There was a pause, and I found myself begging for the message to continue.  "I need to talk to you about our little limo ride last night.  Call my cell – my number hasn't changed." A short chuckle was cut off by a dial tone.

            Quietly, I reached over, erasing the message, my mind puzzling over the true meaning of the message.  Once again, Jericho's actions had confused the hell out of me.  Tracing the speaker of the machine lightly, I tore my gaze away to meet Kurt's furious face.  "What?"

            "What!  You ask me what!"  He put his hands on his hips.  "What was that all about?  What happened in the limo?  Why is that jerk calling you?" 

            I blushed a bit, thinking of Jericho's half-nakedness, my confession, and our heated kiss.  "It's a long story… one that requires alcohol.  Want a beer?"        

            Kurt frowned deeper.  "Oh, this has to be good."  Coming over to my side, he wrapped an arm around me and guided me to the kitchen.  "This better be worth another Olympic sized hangover, Steph."   

END CHAPTER SIX


	7. Chapter Seven

DISCLAIMER:  I do not own Stephanie McMahon, Kurt Angle, and various other WWE characters that appear in the subsequent story.  They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.  Vince, please don't sue me, I have a baby nephew that needs a cool aunt like myself to teach him how to be a smartass.

Façade

CHAPTER SEVEN

            "Can you please tell me where Shane McMahon's office is?" I asked a lollygagging crew member as I entered the arena.  Startled, the young man jumped up from his folding chair and, nodding furiously, began walking down the corridor to the left.  

            *Whatever happened to giving directions?* I thought with a sigh as I wearily followed the retreating man.  It was the day I had been dreading:  Monday.  I was in Baton Rouge, upon the request of my brother, even though I had pleaded with him to let me stay in Connecticut and video conference any meetings he wanted me to attend.  But no, he had an impending feud with Stone Cold Steve Austin, and needed my support.  And myself?  I was dreading a certain blonde Canadian whom I hadn't spoken to since Thursday.

            Noticing Shane's nameplate a few feet away, I pushed past the young man, thanking him quickly as I strode towards the distant door.  Knocking once, I tried the handle, and finding it unlocked, stormed inside.  

            Shane looked up from his desk.  "At least you bothered to knock," he quipped.

            I glared at him, taking a seat on a nearby chair.  "You are lucky I even bothered to come," I grumbled, rubbing my left wrist carefully.  Although the swelling had nearly disappeared over the weekend, it had puffed up a bit on the plane ride that afternoon.  Unfortunately, this required me to wear both the pressure cuff and the sling until the new swelling had deflated.  The return of the throbbing pain brought me into PMS mode as soon as I left my hotel room.

            Rubbing the bridge of his nose, my brother let out a long groan.  "Let's start over, ok?  My, my, my, baby sis!  Don't you look stunning this evening?  I am overjoyed that you could come to support me tonight!"  He offered me a large grin, and I couldn't suppress a chuckle at his comments.  "There now, it's hard to talk to you when you are wearing Mom's angry face."

             I frowned slightly at the reference to our mother; she hadn't spoken to me since calling in her congratulations on my new job.  Our relationship had never been the same since the day I had slapped her.  "Can we please not talk about her and get back on track?" I requested, tamping down the images of her face after I had physically hurt her.  The last thing I needed was to feel guilty about something else.

            Shane waved a dismissive hand.  "Sorry, sorry.  Didn't mean to bring it up."  He then tossed a file into my lap.  "Here are the numbers from last week.  As you can see, the number of households watching Raw has increased dramatically since I became co-GM."  Quickly perusing through the file, I noted the spike in viewers and nodded in comprehension.  "However, my fellow general manager has approached me, saying that our joint presence here is ruining the show.  The numbers prove him wrong, but that's not what bothers me…."

            As my brother began to rant about Austin, I slipped back into my mind and my previous worries.  I hadn't called Jericho back; I feared that he only wanted to talk about my 'illness', and not about the frequency of which our lips were colliding these days.  I had spent the entire weekend obsessing about those kisses and their possible meaning.  No amount of logic, however, would allow me to dismiss the hopeful thought that Jericho actually cared about me.  And that stupid thought fueled my need to see him tonight, regardless of the consequences.  

            "Shane?" I interrupted, standing up.  "I need coffee.  Why don't you go and show Austin this data and get some credible ground on him, make him look ignorant."  Tossing the file back on his desk, I gave him an encouraging smile and exited his office in search of the snack bar.

            As I walked, I passed a mirror and reflexively checked my appearance.  I ran a hand through my wig gently, ensuring that all strands were in place.  My makeup was perfect, and my dress, a short black number with an asymmetrical hemline and a slash cut-out over the chest, was particularly flattering.  I grinned at myself become continuing on; if I didn't have the stupid sling on, I'd look like a million bucks.

            Reaching the snack bar, I was mildly disappointed that I hadn't run into Jericho, my entire motive for leaving Shane's office in the first place.  As I poured some coffee for myself, I mused that his absence was probably because I was looking out for him.  *Figures that he wouldn't be around when I actually expected to see him.* Slowly stirring in some cream and sugar, I checked the hallway hopefully, then sighed when he did not appear.  Not wanting to pathetically hang around the doughnut tray, I opted to return to Shane's office, watch the remainder of Raw, and mope about my horrible luck.  

            "You never called me back," a voice called out just as I stepped away from the table.

            I whirled around, carefully masking my face to one of indifference.  "I was busy," I lied, hoping he wouldn't call me on it.  I had to keep the conversation away from anything medicinal; the last thing I wanted was a cancer confessional next to the coffee pot.

            He shook his head slowly, his loose blonde hair brushing against his shoulders.  With his hair down and clad only in shiny black tights, he looked absolutely delectable.  "Yeah, I know.  With Angle."

            I nearly dropped the cup of coffee in my hand.  "How…" I started to ask, then it all became clear who called Saturday afternoon during my bath.  "Oh," was all I could think to say.  Inside the butterflies encased in my stomach began to beat on nearby organs.  *Maybe he's jealous… dear God let him be jealous!* I inwardly prayed. 

            "Oh?  That's all you can say?"  Jericho's eyes narrowed with displeasure, and my heart rate sped up at the reasons behind his anger.  "Let me guess, your doofus boyfriend didn't even tell you I called back, did he?"

            I shook my head slowly, then laughed at the title he gave Kurt.  "He isn't my boyfriend Chris," I corrected, inwardly pleased that he was upset about Kurt's presence in my home.  Jericho's eyebrows shot sky high, and I blushed slightly at his insinuating gesture.  "We're not fooling around either, pervert.  He's my friend."

            "Ah, ok," he responded, his angry tone disappearing.  With a small grin, he stepped closer and braced his left hand against the wall beside us.  He then proceeded to lean directly into my personal space, his face hovering inches away from mine, his eyes full of mischief.  I froze, not knowing what to expect, and yet I wanted him to close the distance between us and kiss the hell out of me.  "In that case, I think you owe me an apology."

            I shivered at the low quality his voice had taken on.  That, coupled with his close proximity, was definitely unnerving.  Not wanting to be intimidated so easily, I jutted my chin upwards defiantly, bringing our faces that much closer.  "And why should I do that?" I retorted, offering a smirk.

            His grin widened as he openly enjoyed the game we were playing.  I silently rejoiced; as long as he did not quit this teasing, I was free of answering any health-related questions.  "Because you knew about the first message, and had no intention of calling me back."  His right hand reached up to smooth a piece of hair behind my ear.  His knuckles brushed against my jaw softly, and I willingly leaned into it, wanting more contact.  "And you called me a pervert, which was uncalled for."

            I closed my eyes momentarily as he continued to stroke my cheek, relishing the sensation of his coarse skin.  My resolve was dissipating, and for fear that I would lose this teasing game, I gathered my wits about me and made one last ditch effort to retaliate.  "Maybe you are right… what sort of apology would you like?" I breathed, nibbling on my lower lip.  I watched through my lashes as his eyes darted downwards; as an extra measure I then smoothed the sting of the bite away with my tongue.  *Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me* I silently demanded.

            His grin faltered somewhat, but to my dismay he did not take the bait.  Instead, he copied my move, and I found myself gazing at his lips as he licked them slowly.  "I haven't decided.  Perhaps you could think of some appropriate action to take…" he trailed off.

            I could not tear my eyes from his glistening lower lip; in fact, I seemed to be gravitating towards it.  Compelled to reach up and trace the moisture found there, I found that I still clutched my coffee in my right hand, and saw the idea that would ensure my victory.  Breaking out of my trance, I met his cocky gaze with one of my own.  "I may have a suggestion…" I whispered as I brought my lips just close enough to touch his, then immediately pulled back, taking a sip of my coffee.  "But I'll have to get back to you.  I have a show to consult for."  Winking at his startled face over the brim of my Styrofoam cup, I turned on my heel and retreated to my brother's office.  *That'll teach him to mess with me,* I thought jovially.  After all, Kurt and I agreed that I shouldn't get involved with Jericho until I was comfortable with telling him the entire truth; it appeared, however, that my best friend did not want me involved with Jericho at all.  I made a mental note to call Kurt later this evening as I re-entered Shane's office.  

            A quick glance around revealed that my brother had not returned, so I plopped down in front of the television to watch the remainder of the show.  Watching a match between Rico and Maven, I couldn't help but be a little jealous of the electricity that came with the Raw atmosphere; try as I might, I hadn't been able to capture that same spark on my own show since I took the general manager position.  *At least I lucked out in the talent department.*

            Jericho's theme music brought me from my thoughts, and I refocused my attention to the screen, ready for his Highlight Reel.  The instant he appeared on camera, still clad in those amazingly snug tights, I couldn't help but daydream about our encounter earlier, substituting some X-rated scenarios.  When my brother was called out to the ring, I flung my imagination to the side and stared intently at the television.  And something in Jericho's hand I hadn't noticed before: a blue file folder.  Dread crept up my spine to leave a sour taste in my mouth.  I turned up the volume on the television, afraid of what I was going to hear.  

            "Shane McMahon, as your devoted employee I must alert your attention to a serious matter.  Something you may not even be aware of."  Jericho paused, waving the folder in my brother's face.  "Something that involves your sister and Raw consultant, Stephanie McMahon…"

            The chunks rose in my throat, and I almost retched.  *It has to be about the lymphedema.* Cursing loudly, I fled the room to make my way towards the ring, intent on shutting Jericho's mouth personally.  However, as I skidded around a corner, I nearly ran over a familiar person.

            "Watch where you're going," Hunter sneered, returning his attention to the monitors that lined the hallway.  

            My father used to tell me that I inherited his ability to turn any negative into my personal gain.  While I loathed comparing myself to him these days, it was this inherited gene that gave me quite the idea while I stared at my ex-husband.  Plastering a pathetic look on my face, I tugged at his hand, garnering his attention.  "Hunter?"

            He looked at me with a scowl, ripping his hand away.  "What now?  Aren't you supposed to be interrupting this?"  He gestured to the screen, where Jericho was still taunting Shane with the blue folder.  

            I shuddered internally, then returned to my prey.  Placing a hand on his shoulder, I made sure to keep a sad face on while he gazed at me in annoyance.  "Please, Hunter, you know that Jericho is out to get me.  Help me out, your former wife, for old times' sake?" I managed to say, wanting to vomit as I begged him for help.

            His eyes narrowed, and I knew I had his attention.  "What's in it for me?" he asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

            I pointed to my sling.  "How about making up for this?  Your phone calls and flowers didn't mean shit, but this could get me off your case."  Within seconds, Hunter was at my side and walking towards the curtain with a purpose: to get that folder. 

            As his music played, he grabbed my good hand and dragged me towards the stage.  "I'll take care of this," he ordered.  

            Dutifully following my ex-husband down the ramp and towards the ring, I couldn't help but smirk a bit at how easy it still was to manipulate Hunter.  After climbing the stairs, he let go of my hand to open the ropes wider and allow me to enter the ring.  Surprised, I gave him a grateful smile and stepped into the ring, glancing in Shane's direction.  His mouth was open in pure amazement, and I could only imagine what was running through his mind.  

            Jericho, however, was never tongue-tied.  "What in the hell is this?" he demanded loudly, staring intently at me.  Instead of answering him, I caught Hunter's eyes, silently pleading with him once more to handle this.  He nodded slowly, then marched up to Jericho, tearing the microphone out of his hand.

            "I can do whatever I damn well please, Jericho," he bellowed.  "This is my show, and you would do well to remember that."  Pacing the ring a bit, Hunter stopped before me, then grabbed my arm and dragged me closer to my brother and Jericho.  Annoyed, I tried to pull out of his grip, but stopped struggling when Hunter sent a glare in my direction.  "I came out here because Stephanie asked me to shut you up, and frankly, that's something everyone else here can benefit from."

            I did my best to stare down Jericho, meeting his intense blue eyes with a bitchy glare, but my good arm was starting to ache under Hunter's strong grip.  Angry that he was hurting me, I turned my glare to my ex-husband.  Oblivious to my irritation, he turned his attention to my brother.  "Shane, I can guarantee you that whatever is in that folder is bullshit.  Everyone knows that Jericho hated Steve Austin because Austin refused to kiss his egotistical ass…"

            "Like you should talk!" Jericho roared.

            "Therefore, when you came in as the new co-general manager, Jericho saw his chance," Hunter continued, ignoring Jericho's statement.  "Without Bischoff, Jericho needed a GM on his side.  And how would he gain your trust?  Your consultant here doesn't have the cleanest of records; who would doubt Jericho if he started saying that Stephanie was using you in order to get control of both shows?"

            *This is Hunter's idea of helping me?!*  Furious, I kicked Hunter as hard as I could in the shin, causing him to yelp out in pain and drop his hold on my arm.  Taking the mic from his hand, I walked up to Jericho and ripped the folder out of his hand, clutching it to my chest with my wounded left arm.  Sighing with relief, I turned to Shane to begin damage control.  "What my dear ex-husband was trying to say is that Jericho is manipulating you in order to get on your good side."  Stepping in front of my brother, whose eyes were narrowed with suspicion, I gave him my best smile.  "You asked me to come here tonight and support you, Shane.  That's why I am here.  Don't let this propaganda interrupt your plans for Raw."  

            Shane barely nodded, and I knew that he believed me.  Relieved at dodging that bullet, I handing him the mic and decided to exit the ring.  A hand on my shoulder, however, stopped me in my tracks.  

            "What the hell is your problem?" Hunter shouted, spinning me around with enough force that I had to brace myself against his chest.  "I come out here and you kick me?"

            "You were squeezing the shit out of my arm!" I yelled back, showing him the red finger marks that adorned my right arm.

            Hunter smacked my arm out of his face, and I suddenly realized that he had no reason to hold back his rage.  We weren't married, we were in a wrestling ring, and I had provoked him with a kick to his bum leg.  Afraid that he was going to strike me, I backed up slowly until my back ran into the ropes.  

            "My my my, aren't we lucky tonight ladies and gentlemen, to witness another public fight between the champ and his former slut of a wife."  Jericho had found another microphone, and now took pleasure in taunting us across the ring.  I closed my eyes as I heard his term for me, willing myself not to let his words affect me.  "Tell me, do they still call it a domestic dispute when you are no longer married?"

            Opening my eyes, I gave Jericho the dirtiest look I could muster before I felt the prickle of tears threatening to fall.  What was worse, I had no motivation to grab the mic back from my brother and let him have it.  My heart ached; was it not twenty minutes ago that we were nearly kissing in the back hallway?  Chastising myself for becoming emotionally attached to such a devious person, I turned and exited the ring, wanting to curl up on Shane's couch and hide for the rest of the show.  Jericho continued to talk as I walked up the ramp, but I turned out his words, afraid that any other jabs would cause the ever-present tears to fall.  *This damn cancer made me so weak,* I thought vehemently as I pushed aside the curtain and entered the backstage area.

            Halfway back to Shane's office, I heard footsteps behind me, then a hand on my shoulder.  Shrugging off the person's touch, I looked over my shoulder and saw none other than Hunter standing behind me, an almost sheepish look on his face.  Rolling my eyes, I continued on my way.

            "Steph, wait," Hunter pleaded, falling into step beside me.

            "I won't wait," I replied, looking over at him as I walked.  "You did your job and shut Jericho's mouth.  Your sins have been absolved; I won't ask you for any other favors."  Reaching Shane's office, I opened the door, then met my ex-husband's eyes once more.  "You'd better go, before we have another embarrassing public episode."  Not waiting for a response, I entered the office, locking the door behind me.  

            Letting out a breath, I tried to calm myself down as I placed the now-infamous blue folder on the small table beside the couch.  Then, seeing Jericho and Shane still in the ring arguing, I switched off the blaring television.  The silence in the room lasted only a second, however, as my cell phone chose that moment to ring.  With a sigh, I dug through my purse on Shane's desk, retrieved the object, and smiled at the name on the display.  "Hello Kurt," I answered.

            "Stephanie!  How could you?" Kurt shouted on the other end.  

            "How could I do what?" I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood and having a pretty good idea of what he was angry about.

            "Hunter Hearst Helmsley, that's what!"

            "I haven't done him or anyone else since the divorce," I joked.  There was a pause, and judging by the lack of Kurt's breathing on the other end I assumed he was staring at the phone in disbelief.  "Kurt!  I'm kidding!  Are you still there?" I yelled.

            The breathing returned, along with a groan.  "That wasn't funny, Steph," Kurt scolded.  "But you better tell me the truth immediately before I get on a plane to Baton Rouge."

            "Alright alright," I conceded, sitting on the edge of the desk.  "I ran into Hunter when I was on my way to get that folder…" I trailed off, eyeing said blue item on the table beside me, and became instantly curious.  "I wonder what's in it, actually… hold on a sec Kurt," I thought out loud as I placed the folder on Shane's desk and lifted one end.

            Inside, I was surprised to see a single sheet of paper, a print out from the WebMD website.  I frowned as I spotted the word lymphedema at the top, and figured it to be an online definition of the disease.  My eyes were attracted to a large bracket and star near the bottom of the page, and I skipped down to read through a list of potential causes, one of them being breast cancer.  "Oh shit!"

            "What's wrong?"  

            I nearly dropped my cell phone from its cradle between my shoulder and ear at the sound of Kurt's voice.  Placing the print out back in the folder, I gripped the phone tightly.  "Jericho is on to me, Kurt.  The folder has a website that lists the potential causes of lymphedema…"

            "And one of them is breast cancer," Kurt finished softly.  

            "The third listing," I affirmed.  "There's no way he'll believe it's genetic; I would have displayed symptoms before.  It's only a matter of time before he, and everyone else for that matter, finds out the truth."  *And after all this work to keep it a secret* I added mentally.  Needing to sit down, I collapsed on the leather couch, wishing that the cool leather would absorb me and I could hide from everyone.  "Kurt, what am I going to do," I whined.

            "You know what you have to do.  Jericho plays hardball, and the Stephanie McMahon I used to know would bean him at the plate."  

            Despite the cheesy analogy so befitting of my best friend, I knew he had a point.  "You're right.  Let me set something up with him now, and we'll discuss my strategy later."

            "Good.  Call me back."  With that, I dropped my cell on the desk and grabbed a nearby pen.  Flipping over Jericho's printout, I scrawled out a request for him to meet me for breakfast at 8 tomorrow at the hotel.  Hiding the paper back within the confines of the folder, I strode to the office door and exited.

            I tried to pretend that my heart wasn't racing as I walked to Jericho's locker room; I couldn't trust a backstage worker to deliver it myself and not have a peek inside.  His door loomed before me before I knew it, and I repressed the urge to slide it under the door and run, opting instead to knock loudly.

            The door opened within seconds to reveal the man himself.  For his part, he looked mighty surprised to see me on the other side of the door.  However, his tongue was never one to be shocked into silence.  "Funny, I thought for sure you'd be halfway to the hotel by now."

            I frowned at him, and then thrust the folder against his chest.  "I believe this belongs to you Mr. Jericho."  His eyes widened, and I realized that he wasn't expecting to see his 'bargaining tool' intact.  "Since it appears that your integrity is nonexistent when it comes to withholding secrets, I have decided to give you whatever it is you want."  I flushed at the potential meaning of my words, and decided that his close proximity was affecting me in the worst way.  "It would be to your benefit to come to the meeting tomorrow."  

            I paused for a moment, waiting for him to say something.  Anything.  But all he did was give me a saucy grin and shut his locker room door in my face.  I gaped at the steel door as my temper rose, and with a growl I stomped back to Shane's office.  *That's it, Jericho.  I spent my entire marriage playing Hunter's games, I have no patience left to play yours.*

END CHAPTER SEVEN

Author's Notes:  Sorry about the late update, between the holidays and starting my last semester of college, I have had barely a moment to relax.  I appreciate everyone who has stuck with me and the encouragement I have received thus far (especially that persistent nascar-girl, whose awesome messages gave me enough guilt to find time and type out this chapter) :)

I have to admit, when I started this story I only expected to have ten or so chapters, but now I see that there will be many more than that.  I am trying to keep my original goal of writing a fanfic with an underlying serious issue, but the last thing I want is an overabundance of melodrama.  So I ask you, dear readers, to set me straight if I ever fall into that trap (although you'll have to allow me a little bit of sap, we are talking about a breast cancer survivor here).  

Before I go, I'd like to do something I haven't done for awhile – promote a deserving author here on FF.Net.  While I am not a big fan of Mary Sues in general, her extraordinary writing has me hooked on her original character, Samia.  The author is Disco Inferno1 and her stories include 'Where Loyalty Lies' and 'Loyalty of Friendship'.  Go read them – you won't regret it.  Take care all, and hopefully I'll update soon.


	8. Chapter Eight

DISCLAIMER:  I do not own Stephanie McMahon, Chris Jericho, and various other WWE characters that appear in the subsequent story.  They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.  Vince, please don't sue me, I have less than two months before I graduate college and join those lovely taxpayers that fuel your empire.

Façade

CHAPTER EIGHT

            *Where the hell is he?* I thought as I checked my watch for the zillionth time.  *8:14… he's late.*  Sighing, I took another sip of my coffee and pretended to be interested in the contracts that I brought along to work on.  However, like the previous half-hour, they failed to hold my attention and once again I found myself staring at the entrance of the restaurant from the corner of my eye.  

            Hating to sit idly by, I mentally rehearsed all the options Kurt and I had gone over last night.  From the time I had left the arena after Raw to when I crawled into bed, Kurt had painstakingly gone through all possible scenarios that would occur at this bruncheon; further, he developed my counterattack for each possibility.  I listened attentively for the first hour; then when he started on the possibility of blackmail for money, I tuned out.  There was no reason to get crazy over this; I used to sign Jericho's paychecks when he was my employee on Smackdown, and his income supported his royal title as the 'King of Bling Bling'.

            After Kurt killed my cell phone battery with wild theories and angry threats, I used the hotel phone to call Dawn Marie for advice of a different nature:  my attraction to Jericho.  I argued that it was a weakness that would only hurt me in the end; she maintained that it was a positive development and I should pursue it further.  In fact, she encouraged me to proposition him and end my almost two year celibacy.  I pretended to be outraged at the idea, but we both knew I found the prospect irresistible.  The remainder of the conversation was about my attire for this breakfast meeting, then she had to go attend to John, whom had just showed up at her front door.

            Coming out of thoughts, I caught sight of movement out of the corner of my eye, and recognized a disheveled Chris Jericho entering the restaurant.  Suppressing a smile, I focused on the contracts once again, meeting his eyes only when he reached my table.  "Good morning," I greeted coolly as he plopped down in the chair across from me.  He grunted in response, running a hand through his uncombed hair before reaching for the carafe on the table.  "Sleep well?"

            Pouring himself a large cup of coffee, he threw a glare in my direction.  "I don't do mornings, princess," he growled.  I stifled a giggle as he chugged half of the contents of his cup, then proceeded to refill, rubbing at his eyes like a little boy forced to get up for school.

            I nearly felt bad for the half-awake man before me, but I reminded myself of the purpose of the meeting and steeled myself into control.  "Well, then, let's this over with so the King of the World can get back to bed."

            Finishing his second cup of coffee, Jericho shrugged.  "I'm up now, princess.  Besides, don't I get to order some food on this breakfast date?"

            "Excuse me?" I sputtered, unable to keep the blush from spreading across my face at his raised eyebrow.  Mentally going over the contents of my invitation, I found nothing that could be interpreted as casual and date-like.  I waited for him to explain, but he took the opportunity to wave over a waitress.  Quickly skimming the contents of the menu, Jericho suddenly gave me an evil grin and then a huge smile to the approaching waitress.

            "Good morning sir, what can I get for you?" the small redhead asked, notepad in hand.

            "Good morning to you too, sweetheart.  Do you have a name?"  I frowned at his affectionate behavior, but hid it behind my hand.

            "Tiffany."  The girl blushed to the roots of her auburn hair, but still managed to offer a saucy grin.  *Slut!* I mentally screamed.  

            "Tiff, honey, I would love some blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon as fast as possible.  I'm still a growing boy after all," he joked, flexing his bicep at the swooning girl.  I nearly growled at his blatant flirting, but bit my lip and kept a neutral expression, internally calming myself with a vision of bashing Tiffany's nose into her face. 

            Tiffany was mesmerized, unable to break eye contact with Jericho as she blindly scribbled down his order on her notepad.  "Did you want another fruit plate, ma'am?" she asked me, offering my companion an eye roll and another grin.

            *Is she mocking me?!*  White-hot anger shot down my spine, and I had the urge to claw her face to bits.  As I was about to reprimand the little hussy, I glanced at Jericho to see that he was focused on me, a little smirk playing on my face, and realized that he was waiting for my outburst; proof that he had successfully pissed me off using a third party just so I would scream and shout like a princess.  Reigning in my fury, I banged my hand on the table, startling both parties.  "Now you went and made me hungry, Chris!" I playfully admonished, offering him a huge smile.  "I'll take a western omelette and a double order of sausage, please.  You're familiar with sausage, right?"  I let my eyes fall to gaze at Tiffany's hips, and smirked.  "Seems to me that you're familiar with the entire pork family!" I remarked.  

            Giving me the evil eye, the girl wrote down my order and stormed off.  As soon as she turned towards the kitchen, Jericho started to laugh, and I allowed a small smile to peek through as I took a sip of my coffee.  "That was nothing like the old days," he remarked.

            "The old days?  It hasn't been that long since you worked for me," I scoffed. 

            "I meant the old days of our partnership.  When you came back, you had evolved into Briefcase Bitch."

            "Briefcase Bitch!"  That title did not become me well.

            "Yes, Briefcase Bitch.  Friend to both the fans and wrestlers.  Sympathetic to the downtrodden… well, actually, just pathetic."

            "I…. whatever!" I retorted, still reeling from the name.  "Briefcase Bitch," I muttered quietly.  *That's worse than the 'trash-bag ho' comment.*

            Jericho laughed.  "Sorry to break it to ya, Princess, but that's how you were.  In fact, I haven't seen the old you since before…"

            "You're full of crap," I interrupted, growing weary of the conversation that would come.  Mentally bemoaning the fact that our 'breakfast date' was about to take a turn for the serious, I took a deep breath, pinning Jericho with a serious look.  "What is it going to take for you to keep quiet about my little secret?"

            His brow furrowed.  "Isn't it obvious?"

            I wanted to throw my silverware at his head, starting with the cutlery.  "No, it's not!  You promised to keep my secret, and then next thing I know you're prancing around I the ring, ready to blab to my brother and the entire audience!"

            His eyes suddenly cleared from confusion.  "He doesn't know?" he questioned, although I saw that he knew the answer.

            I nodded, drumming my fingers on the table.  "Not many people do," I admitted.  "And I'd like to keep it that way.  So…."  I waited for him to state his demands.

            The confusion returned.  "So…." he repeated, offering a blank look.

            There were some days that Jericho, as much as I liked him, really got on my nerves.  Grinding my teeth a bit, I tried not to shout at the oblivious man.  "Alright.  I am prepared to offer you a title shot on Smackdown in exchange for your silence.  Further, if you never speak of it again, not even to me, Kurt is willing to throw the match."

            Jericho's eyes nearly popped out into his cup as he gagged on a sip of coffee.  "Are you serious?" he stammered.  I nodded, and he broke out in laughter.  "All that to forget your dirty secret, Princess?  What about if I want to have my way with you?"

            My jaw dropped; despite the lack of romance that would accompany such an act, I couldn't help but shiver at the thought of Jericho and I between the sheets.  "I suppose," I mumbled, embarrassed that I was actually somewhat EXCITED at the proposition.  

            Instead of the leer I was expecting, or even a 'trash-bag ho' comment that would have been rather appropriate, Jericho's demeanor became solemn.  "You really would do anything…" he trailed off, playing with his napkin before meeting my eyes again.  "I want to know what happened to you that killed your spirit."

            "Excuse me?"  Now I was completely lost, still wondering what happened to the sex proposal.

            "Why you aren't the screechy, demanding, stubborn princess that we all knew and loved."  I raised an eyebrow at the 'loved' part; Jericho shrugged before continuing.  "Your theme music says you grew up, but I think something happened to you that forced you to grow up."

            I shuddered at his words; he was uncomfortably close to the truth.  Breaking eye contact, I stared at the white linen tablecloth as I tried to come up with an explanation that didn't involve the cancer.  "I divorced Hunter and lost my job.  For the first time ever, I was truly alone."  Pleased with my justification, I dared to look up into his eyes. 

            "And…" he said, exasperation tinting his voice.

            "Annnnnnd?" I repeated, pleased to use his little game on him.

            "This is when you tell me about your diagnosis."  He spoke slowly, as if addressing a child.

            "I don't see how telling you anything else will benefit me!" I balked, tearing a corner off of my paper placemat and shredding it to bits.  "How can I trust you to keep a bigger secret if you keep trying to 'out' me on national TV?"

            Jericho sighed with frustration.  "Look, princess, I wasn't spilling the beans on Monday.  I wanted to talk to Shane about you, since you haven't been willing to share anything with me these days except saliva."  I blushed at the comment, ripping another corner from the placemat to calm my nerves.  "How was I supposed to know that you didn't tell your family?"

            "You've worked for my family for HOW many years and you're still surprised by our behavior?" I retorted sarcastically, continuing at my placemat.  "Wait, I got it, I could have told them about the lump during the whole 'kicking me out the family business' thing."  

            At his stunned reaction, I processed what I had just revealed and froze.  *Why don't I ever think before speaking around him?*  Suddenly nauseous, I looked towards the entrance, contemplating my options.  With Jericho's eyes burning a hole in my forehead, demanding more of an explanation, I resolutely decided to finish what I had started.  After all, the damage had been done.  "I do believe it was number three on your printout from Monday night," I mumbled.  

            I wasn't sure how I expected him to react; he had no immediate response to my revelation, and since I wasn't looking at his face I had no idea of what he could be feeling.  Reaching behind me, I pulled my coat on over my t-shirt, feeling inexplicably exposed.  It was during this uncomfortable silence that Tiffany became my savior, bringing us our breakfast.  Beyond thankful for the diversion, I offered the girl a genuine smile (which caused her to scurry away) before digging into my omelette.

            Even with the presence of our food, the silence was overpowering.  I was reminded of our shared limo ride that occurred not so long ago, and had to wonder at Jericho's reaction to my secret.  It was not like him to hide what he was feeling; and I hated having to ask him to tell me.

            Halfway through my food, raging curiosity drove me to look up at my silent companion.  Jericho was reclining in his chair, his breakfast untouched, and appeared to be watching me eat.  Seeing an opportunity to lift the deafening silence, I attempted to lighten the situation.  "You'll disappoint Tiffany if you don't eat.  After all, you are a growing boy," I mocked.  He opened his mouth to retort, then quickly shut it, visibly distressed.  Surprised at his lack of response, I felt my anger flare and came to a conclusion as to what was fueling his current behavior.  "Don't you DARE start treating me this way, Chris Jericho," I warned, slamming my fork to the table.

            My outburst shook him out of his stupor.  "Look, Stephy…"  His eyes were filled with concern.

            I cut him off with a wave.  "Whatever you're thinking, stop.  I already told you, I don't want nor need your pity, so don't start acting all weird for something that happened months ago.  I'm fine now," I stressed.  Deciding that I had stayed long enough, I stood up from the table, grabbing my things.  "Since you got what you wanted, this meeting is over.  Can't wait until you blab it to the crowd on Smackdown."  

            Jericho, of course, had other plans.  As I walked past him towards the door, he grabbed my free hand and yanked me backwards, causing me to unceremoniously fall in his lap.  A tiny part of me reveled in the contact, but I managed to suppress my glee and paste on an irritated glare.  "Since when do you dine and ditch?" he joked.  I groaned and struggled to get up, but he wrapped an arm around my waist, securing me.  "I am sick and tired of you deciding how I feel and running off before I can respond."  His voice was filled with exasperation.  "And stop assuming that every thing I say, every emotion I show, is fueled by pity.  I will never feel any sort of pity towards you, Princess."

            "Stop calling me that," I whined, crossing my arms and not trusting the sincerity of his words. 

            "Stop calling me Jericho," he responded.  "You told me your darkest secret not a few minutes ago; I think we can afford to be on a first name basis."

            "I didn't know you liked to be called Jackass in public."  Offering him a sweet smile, I shifted on his lap, making sure that my thigh pressed too hard on a certain sensitive area.  He yelped and shifted me back on his legs, but did not move to release me from my position.  "So, Jackass, can I go sit back in my seat now?  People are staring."

            Instead of letting me go, he tightened his arm around my waist, forcing me to wrap my right arm around his shoulders in order to remain somewhat comfortable.  "Don't pretend that you aren't enjoying this.  It's written all over your face."  I shivered at his words, and for a lack of a better response, opted to stick my tongue out at him.  "You're going to sit right here and hear me out.  I am not letting you get up and run off until I have said my peace.  Got it?"

            *Why the hell does he get to order me around like this?* I wondered silently.  Although he may have guessed correctly about the current pleasure I was taking in our seating arrangement, he was dead wrong if he thought I was going to let him order me around like this.  Poking him in the chest, I allowed my anger to spill over.  "Now YOU listen here, Jackass," I began, enunciating every word.  "I will not be forced to sit in your lap while you get your jollies like some perverted Santa Claus!  If you have something to say to me, we will do it in private, and that's final! GOT IT?!" I screeched, causing the elderly couple sitting behind Jericho to whip their heads around in surprise.  "What the hell are you two corpses looking at?  This is a private conversation!"  I glared at them until they looked away, then returned my attention to the man I was sitting on.

            As I met his eyes, a beautiful smile erupted on his face, startling the hell out of me.  "There you are," he whispered, reaching up his free hand to stroke my cheek.

            My anger began to deflate under his soothing touch, replaced by confusion.  "What are you talking about, Jackass?"

            He shook his head.  "Let's talk later," he mumbled.  I barely caught the sight of him licking his lips before he closed the distance between us, pressing the newly moistened lips to mine.  I literally went numb for a moment, hardly able to close my eyes as he plundered my mouth.  With a thorough mental shake, I tightened my grip around his shoulders and kissed him back with everything I had.  A tiny moan escaped his throat, and I felt a surge of power course through me.  Pulling back just a bit, I took care to nibble on that lower lip that tempted me every time we spoke.  However, I then missed the warm coffee taste of his mouth and returned there, enjoying the growing heat between us and telling my thoughts to take a hike.

            Eventually breaking away for air, he pressed his forehead to mine.  His eyes were dilated slightly, and filled with passion.  I shivered, reaching up to smooth his hair back behind his ear.  Neither of us spoke; on my end, I was afraid that anything I would say would turn into another fight.  The hand that stroked my cheek moved up to my hair; and for a brief second he touched the scalp of my wig.  I jumped, pulling his hand away as it trailed through the length of my hair, petrified that he felt something.  

            "What?" he asked, clasping his fingers around mine in an endearing fashion.  

            "Nothing.  I remembered I have a conference call in ten minutes," I lied, needing an avenue to escape.  Something about his innocent touching had spooked the hell out of me.  My wig was something I never spoke about and never acknowledged, not even to my doctors.  I'd burn it if my real hair underneath didn't look so… sickly.  

            "I see."  Removing his arm from my waist, he assisted me in standing up.  Disappointment was etched across his features, and it nearly broke my heart.  Wanting to see that smile again from before, I grabbed his hand and wrapped my fingers around his, imitating his move.  He looked at his hand, then back at me, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

            "Are you flying to Raleigh today?"  He shook his head no, and I averted my eyes, taking a deep breath for what I was about to say next.  "You should take me out to dinner.  We could talk more… you did say you wanted to talk."  Mentally I wondered what I was doing, provoking a conversation that I did not want to have, in public.  My heart, however, was doing cartwheels at the idea of an official date.

            He tugged on our entwined hands, but I still could not meet his gaze.  "I am flying out early tomorrow morning… but I suppose it would be ok as long as you got me in bed by midnight."  

            At his tasteless comment, I couldn't help but giggle like a schoolgirl, the tension slowly draining from my body.  Squeezing his hand one last time, I let go, then met his gaze briefly as I gathered my things from the table.  "Pick me up at 7:30?"

            "Sounds like a plan," he affirmed.  

            Satisfied that I had all my belongings, I walked past Jericho, allowing my fingers to brush against his chest on my way to the elevators.  "See you later," I called out over my shoulder, trying my damndest not to skip to the hotel lobby.  I was so excited about tonight that I could barely hold a thought in my head.  It was Christmas giddiness; and I was getting the best present ever tonight.

            After an excruciatingly long elevator ride, I rushed into my hotel room and grabbed my cell phone, hitting speed dial #2.  As the phone rang, I placed the contracts on dresser, then plopped down on the bed.

            "'Lo?" an unfamiliar male voice answered.  Before I could ask to speak to Dawn, I heard her yawning in the background, then asking for her cell phone.  "Steph?" she spoke a moment later.

            "Hey, sorry I woke you up.  You can go back to sleep if you want."  

            "Nah, its ok, just hold on a sec."  There were more exchanged words between her and the male voice (who upon further concentration was NOT sounding like Mr. Word Life), then the creaking of a bed and the shutting of a door.  "Alright, I'm in the bathroom.  What happened?"

            "First you tell me who that guy was, because I know it isn't John," I demanded.

            She groaned.  "He's an old flame who lives around here, and I was upset.  John and I broke up last night."  Her voice turned sad.  "I knew it couldn't last… I'm 33 and he's 26.  If I were him I wouldn't want to be seen with an old maid like me either."

            I sighed; Dawn Marie was such a romantic, and yet she always got caught up in these dead-end sexual relationships.  "You know that's not true, you are a beautiful young woman and any man, older or younger, recognizes that," I consoled.  "Further, John Cena may be chronologically 26, but he acts like he's a teenager, wearing those ridiculous jerseys and baggy shorts!"  I heard her snort in the background and smiled, glad that I could make her laugh.  "And that lock!  That was to hold that gigantic inflated head of his to his neck.  I bet he used to use it to chain up his bicycle as a kid."

            Dawn full out laughed into the phone.  "I did hate that thing," she admitted.  "But anyway, we'll talk about this later when I don't have to hide in the bathroom.  What happened at the meeting?"

            "Breakfast date," I corrected, smiling at the memory.

            "Breakfast date?!  Since when?"

            "That's what he called it," I explained.  "And I wasn't about to argue."

            "Oh my god, you guys kissed again, didn't you!"  I giggled at her tone, and she shrieked.  "You did!  What else… wait a second; he's not there in your hotel room right now, is he?"

            "No no no, he was still at the restaurant when I left," I explained.  "But… we are having dinner tonight."

            She was silent for a moment, and then literally whooped for joy.  "Steph!  That's great!  What are you going to wear?"

            "Wait a second, first call Kurt and we'll three-way about everything else that happened at the meeting.  I don't want to tell this story twice; plus, it appears that I need to go shopping for a cocktail dress."  As I heard her fussing with the buttons on her phone, I laughed out loud at her reaction.  Then again, her joy was merely a fraction of what I was feeling.  Touching my lips, I thought of our heated kiss over breakfast and couldn't wait until we would be face to face later that night.

END CHAPTER EIGHT

Author's Notes:  I originally tried to include "the big date" within this chapter, but when I hit 15 pages, and I wasn't quite finished, I decided that was a bit too much for y'all to read.  So that'll be posted soon (I hope I hope!)

Speaking of the date, there is a small part of me that feels like I am rushing things between Jericho and Stephanie.  The rest of me wants them to sleep together.  So I hope you all like the progression in their relationship.  I know that I am enjoying writing all these kissing sequences :)

I want to thank everyone who has reviewed and given me such positive feedback!  It makes my day when I see those review alerts in my mailbox.  In particular, I'd like to thank my consistently amazing reviewer nascar-girl, as well as an encouraging e-mail from Jodi, who inspired me to chop the chapter in half and update earlier than expected.  And of course, a review from DCfanatic4life is always the biggest and greatest honor.  

With that, please feel free to review, watch VH1 for the sporadic Chris Jericho sightings (as well as MTV's Headbangers Ball; last Saturday he was on with a bunch of other WWE superstars), and take care of yourselves.  Until next time!  


	9. Chapter Nine

DISCLAIMER:  I do not own Stephanie McMahon, Chris Jericho, and various other WWE characters that appear in the subsequent story.  They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE.  Vince, suing me would put a major downer on graduation day, not to mention the after parties, so I'll ask you politely to spare me.

Façade

CHAPTER NINE

            *7:25… it's 7:25* I noted with relief as I glanced at the reflection of the clock in the dresser mirror.  I still had 5 minutes to work on my wig; the hair on my left side was being difficult, and I was so nervous that my shaky hands were making it worse.  Sitting back on the bed, I forced myself to take a few calming breaths, reminding myself that it wasn't an official date and that I was putting too much into how I looked.  But part of me didn't care; I wanted to look fabulous, to make Jericho speechless when he came to my door.  

            Shaking my head, I decided I was crazy and returned to my place before the mirror.  With the assistance of a few pins and tape, my wig was on in seconds.  The unruly left side, seeming to understand my current frazzled state, was now behaving perfectly.  Finger-combing for a few seconds, I did a slow turn in front of the mirror, checking for any wrinkles or out-of-place hairs.  

            A knock at the door startled me; glancing at the clock I saw that it was 7:28.  "Of all the times to show up early," I muttered, not feeling 100% confident about my appearance.  However, my dinner date was here, and I had no other choice but to answer the door and face the music.

            When I opened the door and caught sight of him, it was I who found myself unable to speak.  Wearing a dark gray cashmere sweater under a black suede jacket, and pitch black leather pants, he looked amazing.  After my long appraisal, I met his amused gaze and blushed a bit at my behavior.  "Hi," I managed to squeak out.

            He nodded his greeting, then gestured towards the elevator.  "I'm flattered.  All that drooling for me?"

            I bit back a laugh.  "You should change your catchphrase to 'conceited sexy beast'," I deadpanned.  Grabbing my purse from the inside doorknob (a trick Dawn Marie taught me, for 'the woman on the go'), I shut the door and gave him a smile.  "Where are we going?"

            He shrugged, placing his hand on the small of my back and guiding me towards the elevator.  "Somewhere fit for a Princess."  

            It was then I noticed that he seemed uneasy; his posture was rigid, and his usual banter seemed forced.  Worried, I followed him into the elevator, and when the doors shut, decided to investigate.  "Did I do something wrong?" I asked quietly.

            "No."

            "So everything is ok?"

            "Sure."

            "Great."  Annoyed by his one-word answers, I crossed my arms and began to wonder if having dinner was a huge mistake.  *Obviously!*

            "What was that?"  

            Surprised, I realized that I had spoken out loud, and decided that I didn't really care.  Grabbing his hand from my back, I tugged at it, forcing him to make eye contact.  "Look, this was obviously a mistake.  I thought you wanted to talk, but I guess you have nothing else to say.  Let's just call it off, ok?"  Untangling my hand from his, I reached over and hit my floor number.  

            Jericho sighed.  "That's exactly it.  I think you have the wrong idea about tonight."  

            My heart dropped into my stomach.  Fidgeting with my dress, I felt like the biggest idiot on the planet.  "Oh," I whispered, gazing at new black and white pumps.

            "I just don't want this," here he gesticulated between us with his hand, "to always be about business."

            I blinked; did he actually say what I wanted him to say for once?  "Wait, what?" 

            "I said…" he began.

            "No I know what you said," I interrupted, wanting more clarification.  "Did you think that we were going to talk business tonight over dinner?"  He nodded slowly in confirmation, and I couldn't help but smile.  "So explain to me then why I would get all dolled up in the hopes that you wouldn't even think of calling me 'Briefcase Bitch'?"

            His eyes brightened.  "So this means…"

            I had to chuckle.  "Yes, this means you are a Jackass.  And that neither of us is here to talk business tonight."

            Exhaling loudly, Jericho blessed me with the first smile of the evening.  "Well, in that case…" he trailed off, taking the liberty of wrapping his arm around my waist.  I shivered at his touch, then decided to place my hand on top of his just as the elevator doors opened.

            As we made our way towards the front of the lobby, he suddenly stopped.  Just as I turned to ask what was wrong, he used our entwined hands to slowly spin me around in front of him.  "You look…" he stopped, his brow furrowed in thought.

            "Nice?" I helpfully supplied with a grin.  Looking down, I examined the black wrap dress with white trim that I was wearing, and whistled lowly under my breath.  "Nice really isn't good enough; how about amazing?"

            With a smirk, he pulled me up against him, his face by my left ear.  My breath caught in my throat as his lips barely made contact with the side of my neck.  "Breathtaking," he finished.

            I smiled languidly, relishing in our intimate position, but all too soon he pulled back and we resumed our walk towards the door.  I took this time to try and slow my racing heart; if the night was just beginning and I was responding like this, I was bound to go into cardiac arrest by dessert.

            A comfortable silence settled over us as Jericho ushered me into a waiting taxi and we sped off into the city.  Trying not to sit back on the seat (to both ward off wrinkles and disgusting taxicab germs), I began to people watch out through the window.  Within a few minutes, however, I began missing physical contact with my date.  With a deep breath, I boldly placed my right hand on his leg, careful to keep my attention focused on the people outside.  The muscles of his leg immediately tensed, but after a few small strokes of my fingers, relaxed somewhat.  I was rewarded by his arm pulling me back against him, his hand resuming its position on my hip.  Closing my eyes, I concentrated on his breathing, his heartbeat, and every inch of his body that I could feel, wanting to remember this perfect moment.

            All too soon, though, the taxi abruptly stopped, and Jericho assisted me out of the taxi and into a swanky looking restaurant in the heart of Baton Rouge.  Upon our arrival, the maitre-d scurried out from behind her podium and whisked us to a secluded corner of the restaurant.  Jericho was the perfect gentleman, rushing over to pull out my chair and seat me before the approaching waiter could interfere.  I smiled at him, taken aback by all this date-like behavior and just a tad curious as to why I had never known him to be so well-mannered.

            Taking his seat across the table, I watched as the waiter poured us some champagne, then retreated to the front.  Lifting my glass, I decided to try and break the silence.  "What shall we toast to?"

            Jericho's brow furrowed as he lifted his glass.  "How about… to a completely business-free evening?" he finally suggested.

            *Perfect.*  "To a completely business-free evening," I seconded, tapping my glass against his before taking a large sip.  The champagne was dry, bubbly, and discernibly expensive; if Jericho was trying to impress me, he was succeeding.  "Mmm," I voiced, placing my glass back on the table.  

            "You like?"  He chewed on his lip a bit, a nervous gesture.

            "I like everything so far," I confirmed.  "So what's for dinner?"

            He put a finger to his lips.  "It's a secret, but the maitre-d promised that we wouldn't be disappointed."

            "I see."  Faking a smile, I began to inwardly worry about the main course.  *Please don't let it be raw or spicy or anything disgusting,* I mentally prayed, wishing that I wasn't such a picky eater.  If only it could be guaranteed that my dinner would be an identifiable part of a cow.  

            "So…"  I turned to Jericho, waiting for him to finish his sentence, but he never did.  

            "So…." I repeated, trying to hide a smile.

            "When do you fly to Raleigh?"

            "Actually, I'm driving."  I frowned at the thought of the long trip ahead of me.

            Jericho seemed surprised.  "That's a 15 hour trip, at least.  I didn't know you were a road warrior."              

            "I'm not.  I don't want my arm to puff up again on another stupid plane ride."  I shrugged, taking another sip of wine.  "Driving all day seems like the lesser of two evils."

            "You going by yourself?"  

            I nodded slowly.  "Yeah, I doubt I could find anyone crazy enough to pass up first class airfares for a boring car ride."

            "I would."  Taking a long drink from his glass, he winked at me over the rim.

            My mouth dropped open in surprise.  "You just had to prove me wrong," I commented before I could catch myself.

            "Maybe I am crazy.  I just don't like the thought of you driving nearly a thousand miles by yourself."  

            "Awww," I cooed, enjoying the crimson hue that spread across his face.  "I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather go alone."

            He cocked an eyebrow.  "Why?"

            "A long drive like that will give me time to think.  Brainstorm ideas for Raw and Smackdown."  *And daydream about how freaking hot you look,* I mentally added.  "Maybe worry about what you'll say on Thursday."

            "This conversation has shifted business," Jericho noted with a sigh, leaning over to refill both of our wine glasses.  "And trust me, the interview Thursday will be all business."

            Somehow I wasn't quite ready to drop it.  "Right.  Of course.  Let me supply the folder this time."

            He groaned.  "What do you want, a script?  I don't usually plan this stuff out."  Leaning back in his chair, he scratched at his chin thoughtfully.  "Maybe I'll tell the crowd my new nickname for you.  Make them love me."  He shot me a grin.  "After all, who wouldn't love the King of the World over a Briefcase Bitch?"

            I rolled my eyes.  "Very mature.  Perhaps you'll be voted most popular by the yearbook club."

            "I was actually shooting for best kisser," he leered, his grin widening when I blushed.  "Looks like I got your vote."

            I searched my brain for a comeback, but could find nothing.  Thankfully, the God of Serendipity was on my side that night; right when I opened my mouth to fumble a response, a delectable shrimp appetizer appeared.  I restrained myself from grabbing a fistful in my mouth, instead delicately popping one bacon-wrapped shrimp in my mouth.  "Mmmmmmmm…" I groaned with pleasure, immediately reaching for another, and then another.

            "Who'd thought that the Billion Dollar Princess eats like Miss Piggy!" 

            With the shrimp halfway to my open mouth, I met his amused look with surprise.  *Way to act like a pig in front of your date!* I mentally admonished myself.  Horrified, I looked away, before placing the shrimp on my plate.  "Yeah, I've always been a barnyard animal.  Hunter called me a cow, and now I'm a pig," I joked halfheartedly.

            "Stephy…"  

            "Seriously though, it doesn't stop at the farm.  Look at these batwings I call arms!"  My ego was crumbling, and yet I couldn't stop berating myself.

            "Steph!"

            I refused to meet his eyes.  "I mean, look at me!  You should start calling these fun-bags fat bags!"  I was close to tears; I had never felt worse about how I looked.  "That'll really get the crowd going!"  I crossed my arms in front of myself, hiding the gigantic stomach that I had grown post-chemo.  

            "Stephanie, I…"

            I cut him off by standing up and looking around.  Spying a hallway to the left of the main dining room, I supposed it to be the bathroom and decided that crying in there would be more favorable than another public breakdown.  "Excuse me," I mumbled as I took off towards a sanctuary of porcelain tiles and sinks.  

            Once safely inside the restroom, I made sure to lock the main door before hopping up on the counter and allowing the tears to fall.  Placing my purse beside me, I hid my face in my hands, wondering why on earth I still had to suffer even when in remission.  

            After awhile, I grew tired of crying, and jumped off the counter to gaze at my reflection in the mirror.  When this date started, I spun around before Jericho and felt gorgeous.  Now, my gaze hovered around my stomach and hips, no longer camouflaged by the cut of the dress.  Feeling fat and ugly, I did the only thing I could think of:  call somebody to reassure me that I was indeed a desirable female.  Digging through my purse, I found my cell phone and immediately called Kurt.

            "'Lo?  Steph?" Kurt answered after a few rings.

            "Kurt," I greeted, choking back some tears. 

            "Stephanie?  What's wrong baby?"  Before I could answer, I heard him growl.  "Wait, aren't you on that date with Jericho?"

            "Yeah."

            "I'll kill him."

            I had to laugh.  "Kurt, you don't even know why I was crying.  It could be stupid."

            "I already know what, or should I say who, is stupid.  And I still want to kill him."

            I sighed.  "Kurt… do you think I am fat?"

            It was his turn to sigh.  "Steph, baby, we've been over this.  I think you look gorgeous, you've got more curves than my gold medals…" he suddenly stopped talking, and I heard a sharp intake of breath.  "You're telling me that he called you fat."

            "Miss Piggy," I clarified, preparing myself for his explosion.

            Kurt rarely disappointed me with his reactions.  "That king of crap!" he shouted.  "Forget the easy death; first I'll shave his head, then I'll make him tap, and then I'll wring his neck!"

            I smiled at the imagery.  "Thanks Kurt, but what I really need is a way out of this bathroom without having to see him again."

            "Why not?"  Kurt sounded surprised.  "Steph, don't let him win!"

            "But Kurt…"

            "Don't 'But Kurt' me," he interrupted.  "Make him take responsibility for his words.  Get out there, throw something in his face, and tell him off like the Stephanie McMahon that I know."

            Although I wasn't sure about the telling off part, however, I did like the idea of drenching him in that expensive champagne.  "Ok Kurt, you talked me into it."

            "Good.  Call me afterwards."

            "I will.  Thanks Kurt."

            "No problem.  And Stephanie, you know I think you are the most gorgeous girl in the continental 48 states."

            I laughed.  "I love you Kurt.  Bye."  Hanging up, I retried some toilet paper and removed the mascara streaks on my face.  Once satisfied with my appearance, I grabbed my purse and, forcing my chin up high, I walked out of the restroom and back towards my date.

            Three-quarters of the way back to the table, I began to lose my nerve.  However, just as I thought about bolting back to the bathroom, I realized two important things:

            1.  My date was missing.

            2.  So were the shrimp.

            Stopping in my tracks, I looked around curiously, unable to spot my blond companion.  "He couldn't have just left," I thought out loud, walking to the maitre-d station in order to get some questions answered.             

            In the front area of the restaurant, however, I spied two figures standing beside a tall fichus plant near the coat check.  Coming closer, I saw the pulled back blond hair of Chris Jericho; however, his companion was partially blocked by Jericho's body.  Completely intrigued, I sidled closer, using the wall and the fichus as cover.  

            "… Get outta here!  The last thing I need is for Stephy to see you," I heard Jericho whisper loudly.  "I've already screwed up once tonight!"

            "What the hell did you do Jericho?" a familiar voice demanded loudly.  Gasping, I looked though the leaves of the plant and saw none other than my dear brother grabbing a fistful of Jericho's sweater.  Clapping a hand over my mouth, I forced myself to remain quiet so that my cover wouldn't be blown.

            Jericho held his hands up in defense.  "Take it easy, killer.  I said something stupid and she freaked."

            "That's enough reason for me to beat your ass."  Shane stared him down for a few minutes, and I seriously thought he was going to throw a punch.  To my relief, he released his grip on Jericho's sweater.  "I know I came here to ask about Monday night, but I need to make one thing clear Jericho."

            "What's that, Boy Wonder?" Jericho said, feigning interest as he straightened the front of his sweater. 

            "You better not be messing with my sister.  She's still vulnerable from this Hunter breakup, and everybody knows about the crush she has on you…"

            *SHANE!!!! * I mentally screeched, nearly biting down on my hand at his revelation.  

            Jericho interrupted my brother with a laugh.  "You don't know your sister at all, Shane-O.  And I would never stoop to act like that mongoloid ex of hers."  Checking his watch, he sighed.  "If Steph hasn't found an emergency exit, she's probably back at the table by now.  I'd better go."

            Realizing that this was my cue to stop hiding, I decided on making my presence known.  Tiptoeing back a few steps, I ran a hand through my hair and marched around the plant and up to the two men.  

            "Steph!" Shane greeted with surprise.

            "Shane, how did you know I was here?" I asked with mock annoyance.  Looking at Jericho, I placed a hand over his opening mouth.  "Save it."  

            Glancing at the blond, Shane returned his attention to me.  "I called Dawn Marie and she said you'd be here for dinner with HIM."  Shane scowled.  

            I mentally groaned; I should have known that Dawn would have blown my cover.  "Dinner's over.  Is your limo still outside?"  Not waiting for an answer, I turned on my heel and started walking towards the entrance.            

            "Oh HELL no," I heard Jericho exclaim before he grabbed my arm.  Whirling around, I came face to face with angry eyes.  "You're going to run away because you misinterpreted one little comment?"

            "Misinterpreted?!" I bellowed, snatching my arm away from him.  "You called me Miss Piggy!  I don't see how that is any sort of compliment unless you are a green singing frog named Kermit!"

            Jericho rubbed his forehead wearily.  "You're blowing this out of proportion.  What I meant was…"

            "Oh I know what you meant to say," I interrupted.  "What I also find interesting is what you just said to my brother."  At his widened eyes, I pointed to the spot on the wall that I had occupied.  "I was standing right there the entire time.  You would never stoop to act like Hunter?  HA!"  Stepping forward, I got in his face and snarled.  "When you called me a pig, you did more than stoop.  You became him."  I immediately regretted that statement, and yet could not bring myself to apologize.  Part of me enjoyed watching his stunned reaction.  Part of me couldn't believe that I compared Chris Jericho to the slime I was formerly married to. 

            We stood there like that for a minute or two, me staring into his eyes and waiting for him to react.  His eyes held an array of emotions; just when I thought I had figured out one, it would shift into another.  Eventually, his eyes turned sad, and he took a step back.  I felt Shane approach me from behind, his hand slipping around my waist and tugging me gently towards the door.  Calmed by my brother's action, I nodded curtly in my date's direction, and followed Shane out the door and into his waiting limo.  

            The ride was mostly silent, minus a quiet apology by Shane for ruining my date.  I wanted to assure him that things had already gone sour by the time he had shown up, but I kept silent.  Misery loves company, after all.

            Dropping me off at my hotel (apparently my brother was flying to Connecticut tonight), I dragged myself upstairs to my room.  Immediately ordering room service, I kicked off my heels, washed my wig and stood it upright in the bathtub, and put on my favorite oversized silk pajamas.  After wrapping a nice, radiator-warmed towel around my head, I decided to channel surf until my food got here.

            It was during a rerun of Friends that I realized something:  how badly I messed up this date.  I was out to dinner with someone I thought about at least 20 times a day, and I freak out at a stupid little comment.  I ended up playing my old childish games, crying and blowing things out of proportion, until I got my way and made the other person suffer.  Burying my head in my pillow, I wished to God that I could turn back time; perhaps then I'd still be on my dream date.  My fingers itched to call his cell, and yet I chickened out as I reached for the phone.

            A knock at the door interrupted my misery.  Going to retrieve my food, I tipped the bellboy heavily before slamming the door and shuffling back to bed.  Placing the plate on my chest, I picked at my sorry imposter of a hamburger, and wished I was eating delicate bacon-wrapped shrimp again.  Or perhaps feeding them into the open mouth of Chris Jericho.  

            Lost in my fantasy world, I faintly heard someone knocking at the door again.  Going to answer it, I wondered if the bell-boy had come back to thank me for the tip.  Rather, I found myself looking into the eyes of my date.  I stared at him in shock for a moment, before stepping aside and allowing him entry.

            Once inside, Jericho faced me, his hands crammed into his pockets.  "I screwed up," he spoke softly, his eyes focused on the carpet.

            I shook my head despite the fact that he couldn't see it.  "I overreacted," I countered, tipping his chin up to look at me.  

            His eyes still had that sadness from the restaurant lobby.  "No, it was a stupid thing to say.  It was my fault you left."

            "It wasn't the best thing," I agreed.  Sitting down on the bed, I patted the towel on my head gently; it still felt pretty secure.  "I shouldn't have run off with Shane like that."

            "I didn't know Shane was going to be there."  He sat down next to me on the bed, placing one hand on top of mine, causing me to blush from the contact.  "I swear."

            I gave him a small smile.  "I know.  I heard, remember?"

            One side of Jericho's mouth turned upwards.  "Well, Harriet the Spy, I want you to hear this.  From the moment you first opened your door to me, to even now, in your pajamas and a towel on your head, I haven't been able to catch my breath.  That wasn't just some line I fed you in the lobby."

            Suddenly it was I who could not breathe.  "Oh," I exhaled, my face nearly splitting in half from the smile I could not repress.  Leaning forward, I placed a gentle kiss on his lower lip, the only way I could think of to thank him properly.

            His eyes fluttered open, the sadness gone.  "If this is how a bad date ends with you, I wish I hadn't screwed up at the restaurant."

            *This self-blame needs to end!*  I shushed him quietly, pretending to look around.  "Did you hear that?" I whispered.

            "Huh?  What?" 

            For a few minutes we both sat still, him straining to hear something, while I used all my will-power not to smile.  "It was me forgiving you," I finally revealed with a giggle.  

            He shook his head.  "You can't do that yet."

            *And here I thought I was doing him a favor.*  "Why not?"

            "Because I haven't done this yet."  I gasped as his free hand snaked behind the neck, pulling me in for a brutal lip lock.  So lost in the sensation was I that I could barely reach up with my right hand to hold the towel on my head.  With the knowledge that it wouldn't fall off, I threaded my other hand in his ponytail and allowed myself to be swept away by the kiss.

            Just as I got hot and bothered, reality struck in the form of his cell phone.  Groaning, he pulled back, and offering me an apologetic smile, fished the phone out of his coat pocket.  "Hello… oh hey Trish, what's up?"  He stood up, walking towards the balcony.

            Rolling my eyes at him, I went to sit up against the headboard, retrieving my forgotten hamburger and taking a large bite.  "Stupid slut," I mumbled as I chewed.  I knew it was illogical to be jealous; after all, who room was Jericho in now, and whom was he just making out with?  Throwing him a glare (which he missed, due to the fact that he was looking out the window), I returned my attention to the television and continued to devour the burger.  

            Nineteen minutes later, I heard him wish her a good night and hang up the phone.  During the course of the conversation, he had removed his jacket, his shoes, and stretched out in the chair before the window.  While I was not watching him talk, I finished off my hamburger, flipped through all 12 channels of television several times, and become irrationally irritated with his behavior.  Now, as I watched him approach from the corner of my eye, I decided he was going to feel my wrath for talking to that trash in my presence.  Just as he moved to sit beside me, I pinned him down with a dirty look, effective freezing him in his tracks.  "Oh, are you still here?" I asked snidely.

            He had the decency to look sheepish.  "Now before you get all angry, the only reason I talked to her at all is because if I don't, she'll keep calling me back like a psycho." 

            I shrugged, turning my attention back to the TV.  "Do you think I care?  Talk to your little hussy as long as necessary.  See if I care."

            The bed shifted as he sunk down beside me.  "I won't deny that Trish is a slut.  In fact, she's demonstrated that to me time and time again…."

            "Do I really need to hear this?" I whined, my stomach twisting at the thought of Trish in his arms, night after night.

            "I think you do."  Snatching the remote from my hand, he turned off the TV.  Crossing my arms, I wearily met his blue gaze.  "Trish and I have been sleeping together, on and off, since about the time I switched to Raw…."

            "Is that why you left?" I interrupted, rolling my eyes.  "It figures you would be chasing some skirt."

            Placing his hand on my mouth, he groaned loudly.  "Dear God, would you please shut up and let me finish?"  Of course, I tried to mumble around his fingers, but he pressed harder, effectively shutting me up.  "As I was saying, Trish and I have been sleeping together for awhile, but it was always just sex to me."

            Even though I hated Trish Stratus with a vengeance, I hated the idea of him leading a girl on worse.  *PIG!* I mentally shouted, glowering at him.  

            He took no notice to my dirty look.  "The thing is, she's never challenged me.  Outside of the bedroom, she's rather boring.  You, on the other hand," he sent me a half-grin.  "You've always been a pain in my ass.  You were screechy, demanding, double-crossing, deceitful, and downright charming."

            I blinked; that wasn't the adjective I was expecting him to follow with.  "Plus, you're gorgeous.  So the night that you returned to consult on Raw, and I saw you in the hallway, I knew that any time spent with you would never be boring."  

            As mad as I was about the phone call from Trish, I had to smile at his cuteness.  And I couldn't help but believe every word.  Removing his hand from my mouth (which he surprisingly allowed me to do), I pretended to mull over his words.  "So I'm just this challenge to you," I purposely misinterpreted.  "That's flattering and all, Jericho, but what's the prize at the end?  Having sex with me?  Getting me kicked off of Raw?  Blabbing my secrets to the world?"

            He sidled closer to me and I abruptly shut up.  "While I wouldn't mind the sex part, that's not what I am interested in."

            "Oh no?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow and purposely moving closer to him.  With all the kissing that went on between us, I had a hard time believing there was no physical desire on his end.  "So what do you want, Jericho?" I breathed, placing a hand on his thigh.  

            "It can wait," he decided resolutely before sweeping me up in his arms.  I gave him a victorious smile as he descended for a sweet but short kiss.  "So I was thinking we could sleep together tonight." 

            I couldn't help but blush furiously.  "Could you be any less romantic?"  Inwardly, my insides were doing jumping jacks.  

            He laughed, arranging us on the bed so that we laid side by side, his one arm wrapped around me.  "I was talking about actual sleep, Princess.  It is almost midnight, and if we're driving to Raleigh tomorrow I need my beauty sleep."

            I had to sigh with relief.  As much as I wanted us to have sex, there was still the issue of my hair.  I wasn't quite sure if I was ready to reveal that last secret to him.  "I don't recall inviting you to drive with me tomorrow," I commented, reaching to my left to switch off the bedside lamp, then cuddling closer to his chest as the darkness cloaked us. 

            "I invited myself."  His voice floated down to me as his arm tightened around my middle.  "I hate flying anyways.  Too many stewardesses asking me to initiate them in the Mile-High Club."

            Despite my best efforts, I laughed quietly.  "Goodnight, Jackass."

            His lips brushed against my forehead.  "Goodnight, Steph."  

END CHAPTER NINE

Author's Notes:  I know I promised this update many weeks ago, and I apologize for the lateness of it.  I also apologize for any glaring spelling/grammar issues; I wrote the majority of this in one night, and then recklessly decided to post :).  What can I say, these last few weeks of college have been a mixture of parties and projects.  Again, I thank you all for coming back and reading, and I hope I didn't disappoint (although even I wanted Steph and Jericho to do the nasty :)).  Please review and let me know what you think!  Thanks y'all, and take care!


	10. Chapter Ten

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Chris Jericho, Stephanie McMahon, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE. Vince, I'm an unemployed college graduate who still managed to scrape together $100 to go to Bad Blood next month; now that's loyalty!

* * *

Façade

CHAPTER TEN

My shoulders were just beginning to ache, and my back was protesting the awkward position I was forced to sit in. However, I refused to move an inch. Glancing momentarily from the road to the sleeping blond head in my lap, I couldn't help but grin. At least his back will hurt worse than mine when he finally wakes up, I thought with redemptive glee.

A blue sign on the side of the highway alerted me to a chain of fast-food restaurants a mile ahead, and I made the decision to stop for lunch and a quick stretch, before forcing Jericho to drive. He had certainly lived up to his reputation of not being a morning person; when my alarm went off at 6:30, he proceeded to bury his head under his pillow and mumble incoherently. I took the opportunity to rush into the bathroom, take a quick shower, and get myself cute; my hurrying was wasted, however, as he was still in the same position in the bed when I emerged. Somehow, I managed to drag him out of the bed and out the door, telling him to get his things and to meet me downstairs as I indulged in the free continental breakfast. He finally emerged from the elevators at 7:15, dazedly carrying his luggage. I grabbed him and threw him into the rental car, where he had fallen asleep again almost immediately. Not that I had minded; it gave me the opportunity to reflect on our shared evening, both the ups and the downs. I doubted we would ever fall asleep so peacefully together again; when we were considered, there were always clouds on the horizon.

Both my back and my bladder rejoiced as I turned the car onto the off-ramp and headed towards the strip of restaurants. Reaching over to turn off the radio, I began caressing Jericho's hair with my right hand. "Hey, you…" I mumbled, tucking a strand behind his exposed ear. "It's time to get up."

"Mmmm," he mumbled, burrowing his head further into my lap. His right hand, which had been curled up under his chin as he slept, stroked my right thigh as he moved slightly.

The heat began to rise in my cheeks, and I chided myself for being aroused by the innocent sleeping movements. "Chris, honey, you need to wake up. I have to pee really really bad," I said with a giggle, turning into the McDonald's parking lot.

"Don't wanna," he grumbled.

I full out laughed at his childish voice, causing him to jump. "Sorry honey, but I need to stretch, pee, and eat. And it's your turn to drive," I reminded him as I pulled into a spot and turned off the ignition.

With another loud groan, Jericho braced himself on my leg and pushed himself upright. He rolled his neck, wincing at the popping of his spine. "What time is it?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes in his familiar 'little boy waking up' fashion.

"12:37," I replied, removing my seatbelt. My bladder was sounding the third alarm, especially with the reduced pressure of his head on my abdomen. "I'll meet you inside, once you wake up a bit." Grabbing the keys and my purse, I hurried inside towards the restrooms.

A few minutes later, I walked out of the bathroom, feeling a million times better. Spying my companion standing in line, I walked over to him and looped my arm in his. "Look who finally joined the world of the living," I teased, poking at his sunglasses.

Swiping my hand away from his face, he pulled me closer, curving his arm around my middle. "I can't believe you let me sleep that long," he whined. "I don't think my back will ever recover."

"You're the one that chose that position." Looking at his face, I noticed something amiss. "What in the world?" I mumbled out loud, tracing the skin from his cheek to his chin.

"What?" His hand soon joined mine, his brow furrowing as he felt the problem.

Suddenly I recognized the texture of the lines. "These marks are from my jeans! That's what you get for falling asleep in my lap," I remarked, perhaps a little too loudly, for the young boy and his mother in front of us turned around to stare. Reconsidering my words, I shrugged and smiled sweetly at the two, who promptly returned their gaze to the registers.

I have never seen a man blush as deeply as Jericho did. "Great," he muttered, rubbing at the skin in a sorry attempt to make the pattern fade.

Leaning up, I placed a kiss on the grooved skin, stroking the stubble he'd grown overnight. "It doesn't look bad at all. Much better than that facial hair you insist on growing... you are going to shave this off, right?"

Mock-groaning, he kissed my temple back. "Yes Princess." As we stepped towards the register, he nudged me away and patted my behind. "Here, you go get us a booth in the corner; I'll take care of this."

"Yes, because ordering food is man's work," I commented wryly, taking my leave towards the back corner of the seating area. I knew he was doing this in order to avoid a 'who will pay' argument'; just another facet of the somewhat chivalrous Chris Jericho. Taking a seat, I opened my purse and fished out my cell phone. It immediately listed that I had 11 voicemails, and I groaned, pressing the send button and starting the madness of messages. As it turned out, 10 were from Kurt – I had forgotten to call him back last night, and he was having a hernia over the phone wondering what had happened between Jericho and I at the restaurant. The other one was from Dawn Marie, telling me that Kurt had called her repeatedly, and she was afraid he would have a conniption if I didn't call him back. Groaning at my faux pas, I dialed Kurt's number and waited for the roasting.

The phone barely rung before Kurt answered. "Stephanie Marie McMahon!" he shouted into the phone. "Where in holy heck have you been?!"

"Hi Kurt," I managed as cheerfully as possible. "Sorry I forgot to call you back."

"Sorry? SORRY!? I thought Jericho had abducted you and taken you back to his hotel room."

I couldn't help but snicker; if Kurt knew about him staying the night, he'd rip Jericho's scalp off, put it on his own head, and do a war dance. "Actually, Kurt, we worked things out. He apologized for calling me a pig, and he's actually driving to Raleigh with me."

There was dead silence on the other line. "This is a joke, right?" Kurt asked, his voice trembling with anger.

"Um, nope. Right now we're at McDonald's having lunch." Looking up from the table, I saw Jericho coming towards me, juggling two trays, and I offered him a smile. "Actually, I have to let you go Kurt, he's back with my food and I am starving."

"Steph, don't you dare hang up on me!" he sputtered. "And don't you DARE eat that garbage!? Do you know what is in the meat? HUH?!"

"Love you too Kurt, bub bye!" Hitting the end button, I put my phone back in my purse as Jericho slid into the seat across from me. "So, Jackass, what'd you get me?" I asked, eyeing the sheer volume of food on the trays before us.

"Well Princess, I knew you'd try to eat healthy to impress me or something, so I got you a salad and a yogurt parfait."

I laughed; it was sad how easily he could read me sometimes. "You are correct, Mr. Jericho, but I hope you do realize that I am going to steal the majority of your fries," I commented, stealing a few as an example and shoving them in my mouth.

He offered me a grin. "Why do you think I super-sized?" he retorted.

Grabbing some more fries, I rolled my eyes at him. "Probably to feed that super-sized ego of yours," I mumbled around my food.

As I was picking the radishes out of my salad, my cell phone rang in my purse. Sighing loudly, I continued at my task at hand, despite Jericho's curious look. "It's Kurt," I explained as I drenched my salad in low-fat Italian dressing. "I hung up on him before and he's probably mad."

"Really…" Before I could react, Jericho had reached into my purse, picked up the ringing phone, and answered it. "Stephanie's phone, the king of her world speaking, can I help you?"

Holding back a snort, I gave him a disapproving look and strained to hear Kurt's end of the conversation. "Kirk? Kirk Angel, is that you?" Jericho exclaimed, leaning back in his chair a bit. "It's been ages… what's that? Of course I know your name, Kirk," Jericho stated, mock-indignant. His eyes met mine, his face contorting with restrained laughter. "Stephanie? Oh she's here, but she can't exactly talk right now… why? Because she's under the table, servicing her King…. oh yeah baby right there…"

Shrieking, I kicked him as hard as I could, connecting with his shin and causing him to yelp. We exchanged glares; I, somewhat mortified at what he said to my best friend, stabbed at my salad in retaliation. Bending down to rub at his leg, he growled at me, then suddenly winced as Kurt shouts became loud enough for me to hear them. "Kirk? I have to go, the Princess is getting frisky. Later." Hanging up the phone, he tossed it into my purse and reached for his double cheeseburger.

"I hope you know that you just signed your death wish," I commented dryly, digging around in my parfait in search of strawberries. "Kurt already lusts for your blood from the whole Miss Piggy comment."

"So that's what you talking to in the bathroom." Jericho nodded slowly, finishing off his cheeseburger and reaching for a Big Mac. "I tried to get in but you locked the door."

I frowned at him. "You followed me to the bathroom? Thank GOD I locked the door." Pushing away the watery parfait, I returned to eating the non-brown lettuce leafs in my salad (which were far and few between). "So how did you end up talking to my brother in the lobby?"

"He had the maitre-d hunt me down. You know, I nearly got kicked out of the restaurant for hanging out by the ladies' room." He scowled at me when I giggled, then took a sip of his vanilla milkshake. "I always seem to get into trouble when you're around, Princess."

I batted my eyelashes at him. "But I'm worth it." A grunt from him signaled the end of the conversation, and we ate the rest of our meals in silence.

After finishing our food and using the bathroom again, I found myself in the passenger seat of the car. The silence that had settled over us, albeit comfortable, was starting to get on my nerves, and I racked my brain for something to talk about. Luckily, my cell phone rang, giving me a reprieve. "Hello?"

"What is going on with you and Jericho?" Dawn Marie demanded loudly. "Kurt just called me and told me you made up with him last night, and he's driving with you to Raleigh right now!"

I sighed, pressing the phone closer to my ear to try and muffle her voice from Jericho (who most likely could hear every word, anyways). "Sorry Dawnie, but I can't really talk about him when he's sitting right here," I apologized.

She groaned. "But I'm DYING to know the details Steph! Did you two make out?"

"Yes," I responded, unable to keep from smiling.

"What?! You two made out and you didn't call me afterwards to tell me!" I glanced sideways at Jericho, who thankfully still wore a neutral expression. "This doesn't make sense… unless… omigod he stayed over!?" she shrieked.

I winced at the volume. "Technically. But nothing happened," I stressed.

"Nothing happened," she scoffed. "Were you both naked?"

"NO!" I shouted a bit too loudly, causing Jericho to look over at me. I shrugged at him, making the crazy gesture with my finger. "Dawn, you're crazy."

"We'll see how crazy I am. Were you guys in bed?"

"Yes."

"Were you topless?"

"No."

"Was HE topless?"

"No." I was getting annoyed.

"Well geez, it sounds like you guys just fell asleep."

"Bingo." Jericho's face held a hint of a smile, satisfying my suspicion that he could, indeed, hear every word. "Dawn, can I call you back after I check in tonight?"

"Do you promise?"

My annoyance grew. "I promise Dawn. Goodbye."

"Bye Steph. Oh, and have fuuuu-uuuun with your boyfriend," she teased in a sing-song voice.

Tossing my phone back in my purse, I looked at my driver and smiled apologetically. "Sorry about that."

"No big deal." He looked at me sideways with a smirk. "I almost feel like we disappointed her."

Despite my best efforts, I flushed a bit. "You shouldn't be listening in to my private conversations!" I scolded, smacking his shoulder lightly.

"Interesting. And how is it that I can't listen in to a 'private conversation' that is entirely about me?" With no retort in mind, I crossed my arms defensively and turned my attention to the scenery. "That's what I thought," he said, his right hand coming to rest on my leg. "Hey, now don't go and give me the silent treatment because I was right once again."

I snorted with laughter. "Just because you think you're right doesn't mean squat, Jackass." I twined my hand with his in my lap and rested my head against the window with a yawn.

"I owe you a nap Princess, why don't you sleep for awhile?" Jericho's thumb stroked mine in a soothing gesture, and I found myself tempted by his idea.

"Maybe I will," I agreed, my eyes already closing and my mind drifting away.

Three hours later, I fell out of dreamland at the sound of someone singing. Cracking open my eyes, I was about to yell at Jericho to turn down the radio when I realized that it was his singing along that had woken me up. I smiled, watching his fingers tap against the steering wheel in time with the beat. Then I recognized the song and couldn't resist a little teasing. "Mmmm, good afternoon," I greeted, my voice low and scratchy from just waking up.

Jericho stopped abruptly, his hand immediately going to turn the radio off. "I… err…" he stammered, his cheeks a bit pink. "How was your nap?"

"Not bad… I did have this strange dream about Mongoose McQueen singing Richard Marx, though," I teased. "Then I woke up and saw…"

"You saw nothing," Jericho interrupted. "Actually, your timing was great; I was just about to stop for gas and I figured that you'd want to use the bathroom."

"Well… I don't know… will you be right here waiting for me when I'm done?" I cracked up with laughter as he scowled at the song lyric I referenced.

"Hilarious," he bit out as he turned the car off the road towards a gas station.

Wiping at my eyes, I tried to compose myself. "I couldn't resist," I said through giggles.

He frowned, saying nothing to me as he pulled up beside a gas pump. Amused by his sulking, I decided to let him stew about it, wandering inside the adjoining store to search out a restroom.

When I walked out of the store, I spotted him still standing beside the car, two giant fountain drinks in hand. As I got closer, he held one out to me, which I took with a grin. "You know, this will only make me have to go again," I commented, taking a big slurp of soda.

"Then that's when we'll stop for dinner. We're only about 5 hours away from Raleigh as it is." He stretched his arms a bit, groaning as his shoulders popped yet again. "My neck is killing me."

I sighed, not liking where this was going. "I guess this means I am driving the rest of the way," I stated. At his hopeful look, I shook my head and wearily settled back into the driver's seat. "I should have realized you were buttering me up with caffeine."

"Just give me until dinner to work this kink out of my neck, and then I'll drive," Jericho whined as he buckled his seat belt.

"Have you even taken anything for the pain yet?" I asked, directing the car back towards the highway. He shook his head, and I tossed my purse into his lap. "There should be some painkillers near the bottom."

He dug around my purse before retrieving the orange prescription bottle. "Vicadin," he read aloud, raising an eyebrow in my direction. "Why do you have these?" he asked as he unscrewed the lid and popped two into his mouth.

I shrugged. "That's what the doctor gave me for the pain when my arm was so badly swollen." Inwardly I cringed; he was going to start asking questions, and there was no way I would be able to avoid answering them now.

Jericho rarely disappointed me these days. "Stephy, you've been avoiding talking about this for days now, but it's time you gave me the benefit of the doubt and started telling me what happened."

"What happened with what?" I asked innocently. He glared at me, and I winced, turning my attention back to the road. "And why should I trust you now?" I retorted, my back against the figurative wall. "Because we went on one date, that didn't turn out all that well I might add, and then you slept over last night?"

He sighed. "No, because I am asking you to." His hand was back on my leg, but this time I did not find the gesture soothing. "You told Kurt…"

"Do NOT compare yourself to Kurt," I interrupted, anger flooding through my system. "Kurt has been my best friend for ages. I trust him with my life, and yet I didn't tell him until just last week. It's something I had to deal with by myself, and I want to keep it that way."

"But that's not healthy, keeping it bottled inside!" Jericho argued.

"Who are you, my therapist? You don't understand…"

"I KNOW I don't understand. That's why I am asking you to make me understand, so that we can put this past us."

I nearly slammed on the brakes, wanting his face to smash into the dashboard. "Put it past us? Cancer isn't like a bad date Chris, you can't just laugh about it and forget it ever happened." I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to breathe. Breathing kept me from losing control of myself.

"Ok, ok, calm down. Bad choice of words," Jericho consoled, the hand on my leg coming up to stroke my right arm. "This whole issue of your cancer is like a giant elephant in the room. It's there, I can't talk or even acknowledge it or you freak out and the elephant stampedes." I rolled my eyes at his analogy, despite the fact that he had a valid point. "You're still hurting Steph… I just, I don't know… I want to make it hurt less. I thought I could do that if you told me what happened, but I guess it hurts you more when I keep asking about it."

With those words, my anger was effectively deflated, replaced by understanding. Jericho had almost echoed Dr. McKeon's words about this inner pain that I supposedly held; could I really be that stubborn as to not see something about myself that even Chris Jericho could pick up on? "Jericho…"

"Chris," he corrected. "You sound like my old gym teacher when you use my last name."

I offered him a half-smile at his attempt of humor. "Chris," I restated, "Telling Kurt was a big step for me. Telling you… was somewhat accidental." I glanced sideways, catching Jericho's pained expression. "But I think I need a little time to get used to you knowing. Maybe then it'll be easier to talk about the specifics." Moving my arm, I took his hand in mine. "Could you give me some space until then?"

"On one condition."

"Which is…?" I asked worriedly.

"You'll stop running away from me when I make a mistake." His laugh was hollow, almost sad. "My mouth has a nasty habit of ruining my time with you."

"Actually, I rather like your mouth when you're kissing me," I said with a grin. "But, I will try my best to stick around, as long as you keep any and all references to barnyard animals to yourself."

"Agreed." He tugged our entwined hands towards him, placing a kiss on my knuckles. "And I know this will sound sappy, but I don't mind waiting as long as I get to spend the time with you."

I pretended to gag. "You've gone soft, Jericho. Maybe I should find another 80s ballad for you to sing."

"I can guarantee you Princess, around you I never go soft," he leered. My laughter mixed with his, and I felt almost content.

There was little conversation after that, minus an argument about where to eat dinner and what radio station to listen to. However, the lack of conversation did not make the remaining hours drag by; we simply took pleasure in each other's presence. I took the opportunity to observe him during dinner and as he drove afterwards, noting little anomalies that pervaded his everyday behavior, like how he licked his lips when he saw something he wanted, or how he constantly craved a physical connection between us, whether it was hand holding or an amusing game of footsie during dinner.

"We're here," his voice announced, causing me to lose my train of thought. Looking around, I spied the hotel a few feet away and eagerly jumped out of the passenger seat and into the cool night air. "Thank God we're finally here," I said as I walked towards the trunk.

Jericho nodded. "I may never drive again, after that trip," he admitted, opening the trunk and getting out our stuff.

"Now you see why I hate driving so much." Righting my suitcase on its wheels, I followed Jericho into the hotel lobby. There was silence again between us as we checked in, got our room keys, and walked to the elevator. As wonderful as the day had been, I found myself wanting to take off this stupid wig, take a nice hot shower, and relax. "So I guess this is it," I said out loud, trying to gauge a reaction from him. Perhaps HE didn't want this day to end, and perhaps I could be persuaded otherwise.

"I guess it is. I was wondering..." he trailed off, distracted by the elevator doors opening.

Walking inside the elevator, I hit the button for the ninth floor. "You were wondering," I prompted.

Jericho hit the button for his floor, and then turned towards me once the doors shut. "Have lunch with me tomorrow." It was more of a statement than a question, but I didn't mind.

I groaned; Thursdays was always my busiest day. Mentally going over my schedule, I decided that I could reschedule an interview for next week, freeing up an hour for a nice lunch date. "How about 1 o'clock?"

"Sounds good. I'll come pick you up at your room."

The elevator dinged, opening its doors to my floor and startling both of us. Suddenly I was not prepared to say goodnight to him so quickly; however, I forced myself to give him a quick hug and a smile. "Goodnight Chris," I said as I lugged my suitcase out of the elevator.

"Goodnight Stephy," he replied, a funny look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but the elevator doors closing cut off anything he would say. When they shut, I found that I already missed his presence, and laughed at myself for being silly.

My tired body reminded me of my earlier plans of a shower as I hurried to my hotel room. Lucky for my aching back and bottom, my room was only a few feet away, and I eagerly opened the door and went inside. Leaving my suitcase by the door, I dropped my room key and purse on the bureau and immediately stretched out on the queen-sized bed.

Just as I was gathering the motivation to go and unpack my shower kit, there was a knock at the door. My heart leapt in my throat, as I knew that it had to be Chris. Running a hand through my hair, I went to open the door, a smile on my face before it was fully open. "Hi," I greeted.

"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.

A bit thrown off by his tone, I stepped aside, allowing him inside before shutting the door and turning towards him. "Is something wrong?" I questioned.

He shook his head, to my relief. "I was in my hotel room, and something occurred to me." Stepping closer to me, he wound his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him as I braced my hands on his chest.

"And wh…what would that be?" I stammered, unable to think when in such close proximity.

"Today was our second date. Granted, it was 13 hours long, and we both took naps during it, but we did eat two meals together," he explained.

Thinking it over, I had to agree that the entire day was rather date-like. There were times that it was awkward and we didn't know what to say, and there were times that we interrupted each other in passionate conversation. "Well then, Chris, I had a lovely time. Thanks for coming with me," I purred, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

"The date isn't over yet, Stephy. I didn't get my goodnight kiss." We were now inches apart, his breath coming out as warm puffs of air on my lips.

I was melting; the only thing keeping me from hitting the floor was his arms around my middle. And judging from the smirk on his face, he knew how much power he had over me in this position. Still, I resisted from ravishing his lips, choosing instead to place a small kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight Chris," I murmured as I pulled back, unable to suppress a smile.

Chris snorted, desire glinting in his blue eyes. "You call that a kiss?!" he exclaimed, licking his lips. Within seconds he had swooped down and forcing his lips on mine. There was nothing chaste about this goodnight kiss; he plundered my mouth as I desperately tried not to lose consciousness. Just when my knees were calling it quits, he grunted and broke away for air. As I tried to steady my shaky legs and take in oxygen simultaneously, he smiled down at me in triumph. "Now that's a kiss."

"I can't argue with that," I panted, his face becoming less hazy and more in focus as my body slowly remembered how to function.

He stole another small kiss, then removed his arms from around my waist. Thankfully, my legs didn't buckle beneath me as I feared would happen earlier. "I'll see you tomorrow, Stephy," he reminded, walking towards the door.

I nodded. "See you then." With a grin, he was out the door, and I swear I could hear him whistling out in the hallway. I touched my tingly lips and retreated back to my bed, still a bit dazed as to what happened.

Suddenly, I remembered the phone calls I promised to make, and reached over to grab the hotel phone. Dialing Dawn Marie's number, I impatiently waited for her to pick up her cell.

Finally, five rings later, she did. "Hello?"

"Dawnie," I said, still a bit breathless. "Are you at the hotel yet?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Are you alright?" Her voice was laced with concern. "You sound out of breath."

"Don't worry about me; just get your butt over to my room. Number 904. Oh, and call Kurt and tell him to come over too," I added as an afterthought. I still had to apologize to him about the McDonald's incident.

"I'll be right over." She paused. "Are you SURE that you're ok?"

Usually her motherly nagging would irritate me. But not after that kiss. A marching band could be performing in my hotel room and I wouldn't be irritated. "Actually, Dawn, I am. I just went on the best date of my life."

END CHAPTER TEN

* * *

Author's Notes: Ugh. This had to have been the HARDEST chapter to write so far, although I couldn't tell you why. I'm still not 100% satisfied with it, but if I read over it one more time I may go crazy :). As usual, I want to thank each and every one of you for coming back and reading, I hope I didn't disappoint y'all with this (the next chapter will be amazing, I promise! :D ). Reviews would make my day :) Take care!


	11. Chapter Eleven

* * *

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Kurt Angle, Stephanie McMahon, or other wrestlers that appear in the following story. They are the property of the actors and actresses that portray them, as well as the WWE. Vince, I'm overworked, underpaid, malnourished, and tired as a dog… and here I am, staying up late to finish this chapter. Dedication to the game, that's what I'm saying.

* * *

Façade

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I woke up the next morning in a surprisingly good mood for a Thursday. I credited my cheery disposition and my perma-smile to all the glorious time I had spent with Chris Jericho in the past two days.

In the middle of my breakfast, I received a phone call from the source of my happiness. I was immediately worried; a non-morning getting up early on a televised show day only spelled trouble. My intuition would prove correct as he would groggily inform me that he wouldn't be able to meet me for lunch, and that he'd see me at the arena.

No good morning wishes. No explanation of why he couldn't keep our date. No comments about our growing relationship. Hell, there was even no padding on his words. It was a raw dismissal that caused the clouds to grow over my head.

The rest of the morning, I bitched and screamed during my meetings. People who were unfamiliar with me looked frightened, the rest were unfazed. Part of me knew that it probably wasn't right to take out my anger on them; the other half didn't bloody care for the simple reason that I, Stephanie McMahon, was stood up by Chris Jericho.

Kurt, being the overly-supportive best friend that he was, was more than happy to fill in for Jericho at lunch (since I had mistakenly pre-emptied the time). Since I hadn't left the hotel conference rooms all day, he dragged me down the street to a small diner, claiming that 'the fresh air would do me good'. Secretly, I wondered if he was trying to save the hotel restaurant staff from my wrath; if so, that was rather unfair. Keeping my emotions bottled in was not healthy, to say the least.

Pulling out my chair for me, Kurt gave me another tentative smile. "See, isn't this nice? Now you won't be cooped up in that hotel until we leave for the arena."

I huffed, crossing my arms. "This place is filthy, and now my lunch will have to be shorter since I have to walk BACK to the hotel."

"Steph, the hotel is five minutes away; I doubt you'll be late for anything," Kurt replied, still in cheerful mode and making my hand itch to slap him. Opening his menu, his eyes skimmed through the typical diner fare with fake enthusiasm. "Look, they have chocolate milkshakes! I bet that sounds good to you, huh."

My mind skipped from the question in his eyes to the idea of a milkshake to whatever reason he had conjured up that would make me crave something fatty and chocolaty. Needless to say, my attitude did not improve. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" I growled, my hands reaching for the cutlery.

Kurt's face blanched, giving me my answer before his mouth even opened. "N-n-n-no, I wasn't… I mean, I thought one would cheer you up some."

My best friend was always a horrible liar. And, as much as I wanted to bitch and scream at him, I knew that I'd only end up apologizing to him later. Apologies were never my strong suit. "If you say so, Kurt. But you better not make any comments when I get cheese fries with my burger."

"Yes ma'am," he responded with a mock-salute, successfully getting a small giggle out of me.

Lunch was relatively quiet after that, with Kurt attempting only to bring me out of my funk with jokes or comments about the questionable food. And while I appreciated every word, I had no desire to cheer up; Chris Jericho had ruined my day, and I would act however I wanted to.

During my post-lunch meetings with the Smackdown magazine, I multitasked between paying attention to the editors and deciding on my course of action for the show tonight. I knew that Jericho would still plan on calling me out for his inaugural Smackdown Highlight Reel; and broken date or not, I would have to make an appearance. However, beyond the fact that I didn't know what he'd ask me (minus his promise to stay away from my trial with cancer), I had no idea how I was going to exact my revenge on him for the broken date.

He needed to be humiliated, the way I felt when I called Kurt and explained why my lunch hour was now free. He neAnd the only way to do that was to attack his gigantic ego on his own show.

A couple comments about the bra and panties match would do quite nicely, as long as I could get the incriminating Polaroids and video footage as a visual aide.

Standing up from my chair, I interrupted the rambling editor-in-chief with a hand. "I think you have got this all figured out. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a show to prepare for," I explained as I gathered my things. I knew that walking out of this meeting would bring on some heat from the magazine staff, but I needed to place a call to the production head immediately in order to get my plan in effect.

Nodding at the curt 'goodbyes' from some in the board room, I rushed outside, turning on my cell phone and paging Arnie, the head honcho of the famed WWE video montages.

He called me back within seconds. "Yeah boss?"

I grimaced; I had told him numerous times that 'Ms. McMahon' would do quite nicely. "Arnie, I know we go on air in four hours, but I need some visual aides for the Highlight Reel tonight."

He squeaked a few times in surprise. "I don't think that's possible Boss. We're already working overtime on Mr. Jericho's request."

"Mr. Jericho's request?" I stammered with surprise. _What could he be planning?_

There was a brief pause on the other line, and I realized that Jericho's request was probably some sort of surprise for me, and that Arnie had blown it wide open. "Look Boss, I thought you knew about it…"

"It doesn't matter Arnie," I cut off quickly, starting to get mad. When Jericho did a montage for his show, it usually poked fun at his guest. He was adding insult to injury to my already ruined day, and that made my blood boil. "How much do you have done?"

"About six seconds."

"Good. This is what I want you to do…"

* * *

"Do I look okay?" I asked Dawn Marie as we exited my limo at the arena later on. 

She let out a huge groan, not bothering to glance at my ensemble. "For the last time Steph, you look fantastic."

"But do you think Jericho will think I look fantastic?" To be honest, I wanted him to fall to his knees with lustful appreciation, so that I could crush him with my four inch stiletto heels. For Dawn's sake, however, I stayed in the realm of reality.

"For someone you're pissed off at, you are sure acting like you care about what he thinks," she commented, rolling her brown eyes at me.

"Look who's talking! Like you didn't dress that way to make Cena jealous," I shot back, pointing to her black miniskirt and thigh-high boots.

She laughed. "I guess we're both pathetic then." Reaching my office, she sped up to open the door for me. "So what's on tap for tonight anyway?"

I shrugged, walking in the opened door to dump my things on the desk. "I knew I wasn't going to be able to top last week, with that bra and panties match, so I kept it pretty low key. Although I did sign a match between John Cena and Kurt," I said with a wink.

Dawn's head whirled around to look at me with surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Yep."

With a nod, she rushed over to give me a hug. "Have I mentioned lately that you're the best general manager ever?"

I hugged her back, then broke away to sit down at my desk. "I try to look out for the best interests of my wrestlers." Reaching into my briefcase, I started pulling out the paperwork for tonight. "Hey Dawnie, do me a favor?"

"What kind of favor?" she asked as she dug around in her purse, no doubt looking for her nail file.

"Go find Kurt and tell him to stop by my office. I might need his help later tonight."

Tossing her purse aside, Dawn gave me a curious look. "Help with what?"

"Jericho," I replied absently as I looked over the estimated attendance for tonight. She grumbled something under her breath, then exited the office.

With her gone, I tossed the paper aside and went to stand in front of the mirror. Sticking with my latest color obsessions, I was wearing white linen pants and a black plunging v-neck shell. I played with my bangs a bit, but I was pretty satisfied with the way my wig looked tonight. My scrutiny was interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

My heart sped up briefly as I both prayed and worried at who it could be. "Come in," I called, turning towards the door.

A very large man wearing a security guard uniform entered. I openly gaped at the man, who was as tall at the Undertaker and twice as wide. "You requested extra security, Ma'am?" the guard stated, his voice low and scratchy.

A smile spread across my face; there was no way Jericho could get past this behemoth of a man. "I did indeed. What's your name?"

"Percy."

I blinked, biting back a chuckle. A name like that didn't quite fit the giant in front of me. "Well, Percy, are you familiar with our show at all?" He nodded, and I grinned wider. "Good. I have a lot of work to do tonight, but I'm afraid that Chris Jericho is going to barge into my office and cause trouble."

Percy frowned, crossing his arms. "He won't get past me Ma'am. Nobody does."

"Call me Stephanie. And I believe you Percy."

The giant guard nodded again, and then lumbered out of the room. Once the door clicked shut, I laughed giddily to myself as I returned to my paperwork. If Jericho wanted to speak to me, he was going to have to wait until the Highlight Reel.

Ten minutes later, just as I was giving my authorization on a few expense forms, I heard loud voices out in the hallway. Hoping it was Jericho, I leapt from my seat and rushed to the door, as not to miss a word of it.

My trip was not in vain, for I instantly recognized Chris's angry voice floating through the door. "…Mean I can't see her? Do you know who I AM???"

"Ms. Stephanie has given me strict orders not to let you in Mr. Jericho," Percy explained in that deep voice of his.

I giggled at Chris's answering moan. "You're kidding, right buddy? This is some sort of joke because I couldn't take her to lunch?"

"Do I look like a joke, _pal_?" Percy growled back. I could almost picture him crossing his arms and looking down at Jericho in disgust; it was then that I wished I could get a window in my office door, just for the visual.

"A joke… only if it's about the Subway diet."

I gasped, waiting for the sound of Percy's fist hitting Jericho's mouth. _Of all the people to possibly push buttons with, he chooses the hulking guard_.

There was no such noise, only the sound of a third voice. "Excuse me, sir, but Stephanie asked to see me, the one and only Olympic Champion?"

I smacked my forehead. Kurt had arrived, and was more likely than not shoving his gold medals in Percy's face.

"Go right ahead, Mr. Angle," Percy replied in a higher, more friendly voice. I snorted out loud, stepping back so that I didn't get clocked by the opening door.

"The doofus gets to go in?!" I heard Chris exclaim. "This is unbelievable!"

"Thanks for all your help, kid. If you'd like an autograph, I'd be more than happy to oblige after my business with Steph is done." Without waiting for an answer, my best friend strolled into my office, waving over his shoulder. "Hey Jericho, thanks for being busy during lunch. I certainly enjoyed filling in." With a smirk, Kurt slammed the door shut, then turned to me with a grin.

"Your autograph?" I asked, shaking my head.

"You can have one too, after that guy flattens Jericho," Kurt said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and moving me back closer to the door. "Nice revenge, by the way."

"You haven't seen anything yet," I commented, trailing off at the sound of a throat clearing in the hallway. "Shhh, here's round two."

"Alright buddy, what's it going to take for you to step aside?" Jericho bargained. "Cash, chicks, chitlins…"

"Why don't you make me stand aside?"

"Oooooh!" Kurt and I exclaimed simultaneously. If he was going for a punch in the mouth, then he was succeeding.  
  
"Steph, is that you?"  
  
I smacked myself in the forehead while Kurt snickered; apparently we were eavesdropping a bit too loudly. Luckily, Percy came to my rescue. "You've disturbed Ms. Stephanie long enough. I suggest you find someone else to harass."  
  
"But she's my favorite person to harass," Chris said loudly, most likely trying to get on my good side. That wasn't going to work today, but it was nice to hear.  
  
Kurt caught my smile and rolled his eyes. "Are you enjoying this?" he whispered.  
  
"You know it," I responded. Deciding that I had enough with the scene outside, I turned and walked back to my desk. "Now Mr. Angle, I do actually have business to discuss with you."  
  
Kurt groaned before going to sit on the couch. "This can't be good."  
  
"It concerns a certain ex of a certain friend of ours."  
  
His eyes gleamed. "Do I get my hands on him tonight?"  
  
I tapped a finger to my chin. "I was thinking a 'win by submission' match, myself. Will that work for you?"  
  
Kurt rubbed his hands together. "Excellent. One tapping-out punk, coming up." Standing from his seat, he gave me a curious look. "Does Dawn know about this?"

I shrugged, leaning back against the desk. "Yeah, and she pretended like she was okay with it. I still think she's hung up on him though."

My best friend shook his head. "Of all the people to be hung up on," he commented sadly, heading for the door. "Hopefully she'll find someone new by the end of the week."  
  
That was an interesting thought. "Kurt, do you know any guys..."  
  
"No," he said quickly before darting out the door. Kurt wasn't big into matchmaking, and would always refuse to offer up his friends for a worthy cause. Frankly, I think he was more worried about losing his male friends; he did spend the majority of his free time with me or Dawn. With that business taken care of, I returned my attention to the paperwork on my desk.

While I attempted to do something productive, however, my mind kept bringing up Jericho. Some minute part of me felt guilty for banning him from my office, even though he did call off our lunch date. This part of me knew I was acting like a child; sulking and pointing fingers when he really hadn't done anything wrong. It would have been worse for him to stand me up, or bring Trish to the restaurant or something.

Eventually, though, that little voice was squelched by my bitchy alter-ego. No use getting soft now; I still had my little Highlight Reel surprise for him. And, in the long run, Jericho deserved it – after all, he built up my expectations of him yesterday.

* * *

Percy turned out to be more than helpful that night. Besides keeping Jericho out of my sight (and allowing me to catch up on ratings reports), the surprisingly soft-hearted man made sure that my coffee cup was always full, as well as bringing me assorted pastries. I tried to object at first to the sugary treats, but gave in after he lifted up his shirt and showed me "what fat looked like". And in a gentlemanly turn, he offered to escort me to the stage for my highly anticipated spot on the Highlight Reel. 

"Thanks for walking with me, Percy," I said, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in my white linen pants. Truth be told, I was a bit nervous at seeing Jericho face to face, after the stunt I pulled earlier. "I don't know where Dawn ran off to."

That wasn't entirely true; I had my suspicions that my dark-haired friend had either: a. ran into John Cena or b. ran into someone to make Cena jealous with. I just hoped that she wouldn't ask me to cancel the main even tonight; Kurt had his heart set on facing the Master of Thuganomics. Plus, I had already plugged the hell out of it with commercial teasers.

"It's no trouble Ms. Stephanie," my companion replied. "I'm just glad I was able to be of some help to the prettiest woman in Raleigh."

Percy was, in no way shape or form, the type of guy I went for, but I still blushed at his compliment. Before I could thank him, though, we were confronted by a stage hand.

"Ms. McMahon? Chris Jericho just called for you in the ring," the man said before rushing off, clipboard in hand.

I almost laughed at the departing figure, beyond glad that my duties did not include those of the backstage personnel. Turning to Percy, I gave him one last smile. "Thanks for everything, and you promise to let me know if you want a permanent job with the WWE, right?"

He nodded solemnly. "Yes ma'am. You better get out there and put that boy in his place."

I chuckled, running a cautious hand through my hair. Everything, thankfully, felt in place; so with a deep breath I readied myself and walked out to my music.

Once again, I was surprised by the number of cheers that I received upon my entrance. They quickly, though, faded away into a chant of 'slut', as if the blond man in the ring had somehow reminded them of my unflattering nickname. I kept my smirk firmly in place; it would be wrong for the general manager of Smackdown to give an entire crowd the finger. Besides, I would be lying if I said that the demeaning name didn't make me feel slightly more comfortable.

His blue eyes sought out mine as I approached the ring; although his cocky grin gave away little to what he was feeling. There was almost a giddy-like excitement to him, as he paced around in the ring waiting for me. I suspected it had to do with his 'surprise' for me, and almost started feeling guilty again. Almost.

I pouted a bit as I climbed into the ring, a bit peeved that he didn't sit on the middle rope to assist me. _Oh sure; then they'll play the Macho Man's theme song and you two can twirl around in the ring like some uber-couple_, I thought to myself snidely. We weren't a couple and it wouldn't get me anywhere to pretend that we were. Stomping over to the corner, I took the extra microphone and returned my attention back to Chris Jericho. "Well, Jericho, I guess I should welcome you back to Smackdown."

He let out a stage laugh, leaning against one of the ropes. "Stephy, Stephy, Stephy… you don't have to hide behind all that professionalism. We all know you missed the Highlight of the Night," he stated, licking his lips in that infernal way.

I cocked an eyebrow in his direction. "Really? We've been able to sign a number of new talents, now that we don't have to pay for that inflated head of yours," I retorted.

"Ah, but you've missed my talented head; don't deny it Princess."

The crowd cheered as Jericho capitalized on my poorly chosen words. Instead of trying to win the battle of wits, I decided to play into it. Giving him my best glare, I tossed my hair over my shoulder. "What's wrong Chris; jealous that I didn't pay attention to your so-called talented head? Now I see why you'd run off to join Bischoff's show; he's pretty good at massaging 'heads' like yours."

Jericho looked surprised as the crowd laughed. "That's funny Steph, but you shouldn't be so humble. Your reputation far precedes you in the WWE as the best head massager in the company." He paused to scratch at his head. "What was your title again? It's been so long…"

The crowd began to rumble with excitement, anticipating his next few barbs. I, on the other hand, could barely keep the smile off of my face. _Didn't want him to catch on just yet._

Suddenly he snapped his fingers, startling me a bit. "I got it! I called you a filthy, dirty, disgusting, brutal, bottom-feeding, trash-bag ho," he enunciated, the crowd screaming along every word. Jericho laughed to himself as they began chanting his name, before he starting walking around me in a slow circle. "But you know, I don't think that title works for you anymore, Steph. You've changed."

His words were echoing one of our more serious conversations, and for the first time that night, I started to worry. Crossing my arms, I sent him a death glare, a nonverbal warning that he'd better keep it professional. _If he goes back on his promise..._

Seeing as I wasn't going to talk to him or to the audience, Chris brought the microphone back to his lips. "Yes, you've definitely changed. No longer are you the trash-bag ho of days gone by, but you've evolved… into the Briefcase Bitch!"

I suspected that this was the point where I threw a fit, so I dropped my mouth open in surprise. His eyes met mine with some sort of apology before he turned to face the Jeritron 5000. "What's wrong Princess, don't believe me? Let's take a look at the footage."

I nearly jumped for joy when the lights dimmed a bit and the video montage started on both the Jeritron and the big-screen. Making sure to give the blond man one more disgusted look, I turned my attention to the center of the ring.

The video started out predictably enough, with a baby picture of me looking cute and innocent. I rolled my eyes as 'The Dawn of Time' music started playing, wondering if Jericho had planned some sort of evolutionary pictorial. How boring.

Of course, the video blipping out immediately brought a grin to my face and a scowl to his. "What the hell is this?" he shouted into the mic, waving his arms about as the screen stopped scrolling… to reveal a still image of Chris wearing his bra and boy shorts ensemble, bent over at the waist while Hunter appeared to bum-rush him from behind.

I clasped a hand over my mouth to keep the giggling in as photo after embarrassing photo was shown. In the background, 'Girls, Girls, Girls' by Motley Crue belted out of the speakers, adding to the vivid picture montage. I didn't know how Artie managed to secure the rights to that song in so short a time, but I had to give him credit for such a perfect fit.

Finally, the video faded out with a still shot of Chris tugging at his shorts. Jericho immediately fixed me with the evil eye as I wiped away a few tears. "Like I said, Jericho, welcome back to Smackdown," I stated simply. The crowd was a mixture of boos and cheers when my music kicked in and I quietly walked backstage.

_God, that was satisfying_, I thought to myself when I ducked through the curtain. It had been ages since I was able to one-up Jericho in front of an audience. With nothing better to do than gloat, I hung around in the gorilla area, waiting for him to come backstage and lambaste me.

As soon as his blond hair was visible, I pounced. "Did you enjoy my welcome back present, Jericho?" I asked snidely.

I waited for an insult, a curse, even a death threat. But all I got was a glare before he started walking off towards his locker room, which infuriated me to no end. Oh sure, I was expected to be a good sport about all the times he teased me on TV; but he couldn't take the same treatment back? It was completely unacceptable.

"What, are you just going to walk away and ignore me like a little bitch?" I called out, nearly tripping over my feet to start chasing after him.

"Perhaps I'm just waiting for you to sic that overgrown pituitary gland on me," he mumbled, speeding up his pace.

Weaving a hand through the back of my hair, I sprinted after him. "Sure, pretend this is all about Percy, instead of you just admitting that I beat you at your own game out there."

"Whatever," he said, storming into his locker room and slamming the door.

Not to be deterred, I managed to get there before he threw the lock, and muscled my way inside. "And now you're slamming doors in my face! You've got some damn nerve, Chris Jericho; pulling this crap after you ditched me this afternoon!" I huffed, moving to stand before him. The thought of him being angry over _this_ was making my blood boil. "Honestly, if I had known… mmphf!"

At that point, I was cut off by his lips. The bastard kissed me, his arms wrapped around my waist, until my anger subsided and I felt myself start to relax. Just as I was about to kiss him back, he pulled back, a huge smirk plastered on his features. "I think I've found the cure for your big mouth."

"My big mouth! You id…" His lips returned to their spot; this time, I wasted no time in deepening it. A few hot seconds later, I broke away, desperate for air. "I do not have a big mouth."

His face squinched up in thought. "Big mouth, no. Incredibly sexy mouth, yes." His face descended towards mine again; but I avoided his lips and gave him a pout. "What?" he asked.

"Why did you cancel on me this afternoon?" Looking up at him, I put on the saddest face I could muster.

"Aw, Steph, don't look at me like that," Chris complained. "I went to go see one of the trainers at the hotel. My back was still killing me from our road trip yesterday, and I barely got a wink of sleep last night."

Feeling a bit foolish, I dropped my gaze to his sparkly pink button-down. "Oh," I said softly. I wasted my entire day, plotting my revenge on him and he actually had a legitimate excuse. Realizing that I probably should apologize, and yet having no desire to, I placed my hands on his chest and attempted to pull away from his embrace. "Well, uh, now that that's cleared up, I have some work to get back to…"

"Nuh uh," he interrupted, his arms tightening around me. I looked into his mischievous blue eyes and groaned out loud. "I think you owe me an apology."

I snorted rather unattractively, but I didn't care; he was out of his mind if he thought I was going to apologize NOW. "For what? It's not like I sicced Percy on you or put you in a handicap match."

"Oh? What about my sabotaged video montage, which I might add, was a tribute to you."

"Oh I bet it was," I conceded, rolling my eyes. "Like I said, that was your welcome back present to Smackdown."

His face turned red, and I could tell that he was losing his patience. "Steph, why does this hphmmm..."

This time it was my lips that silenced his. And before I got lost in the moment, I mentally conceded that Chris had indeed come up with the perfect solution to our big mouth problem.

END CHAPTER ELEVEN

Author's notes: And I'll cut this chapter off here. Wow, does it ever feel weird to be working on this story again; switching from 'Flowers' to this is quite the leap of genres.

Chapter twelve will pick up where this one ended, before you think that I just left Kurt and Dawn hanging by plot strings. I can only hope it won't take me another four months to post it :)

Anyway, I just want to thank you guys for consistently supporting and reviewing this story, even though it was on hiatus. Like I've said time and time again, each review is a blessing to me, and forces me to obsess even more on subsequent chapters. So I hope that I didn't disappoint with this long overdue update; please review and let me know what you think! Take care, and I hope to update soon!


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